N  VERSITYOF  CA  RIVERS  DE,  LIBRARY 


'   '  ST" 


3  1210018172146 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


FROM  THE  LIBRARY 

OF 
DR.  J.  LLOYD  EATON 


PERKINS,  THE   FAKEER 


"/  groaned  aloud,  and  felt   the  tears  come   to   Caroline's 
beautiful  eyes." 


PERKINS,/^  FAKEER 

A       TRAISESTT      ON      REINCARNATION 


His  Wonderful  Workings  in  the  Cases  of 

"When  Reginald  Was  Caroline" 
"How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen" 
and  "  Clarissa  s  Troublesome  Baby" 


BY  EDWARD  S.  VAN  ZILE 

Author  of  "ffitb  Sivord  and  Crucifix"  etc. 

ILLUSTRATED    BY    HY   MAYER 


1903 


PUBLISHING  CO. 
NEW   YORK  LONDON 


COPYRIGHTED 
July,  1900,  December, 
i  9  o  i  ,  J  ul  y  ,  1902 
BY  ESS  ESS 
PUBLISHING  CO. 


COPYRIGHTED 
1903,  BY 
THE  SMART  SET 
PUBLISHING  CO. 
First  Printing  in  ^jpril 


PREFACE. 

IN  offering  to  the  public  in  book  form  the  fol 
lowing  tales,  from  the  pages  of  THE  SMART 
SET,  the  opportunity  is  presented  to  the  author 
of  answering  the  questions  that  have  frequently 
been  asked  of  him  and  the  publishers,  since  these 
stories  first  appeared  in  print,  concerning  their 
origin.  He  is  not,  and  has  not  been,  the  deus  ex 
machina. 

One  Perkins,  a  Yankee  who  lived  for  fifty  years 
in  India,  and  became  an  adept  in  mysteries  re 
jected  by  the  Occidental  mind,  is  responsible  for 
the  curious  psychical  transpositions  described  in 
the  following  pages.  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say 
much  about  Perkins.  He  has  control  of  a  power 
that  is  so  peculiar,  and  I  may  say  erratic,  that  I 
dare  not  offend  him.  If,  in  this  preface,  I  should 


Preface. 

tell  the  public  too  much  about  Perkins,  he  has  both 
the  ability  and  the  inclination  to  work  me  harm 
of  the  disastrous  sort  herein  described.  I  do  not 
dare  to  defy  him. 

I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  telling  these  stories 
in  the  first  person.  My  choice  of  this  method 
will  at  once  commend  itself  to  the  thoughtful 
reader;  and,  what  is  more  important,  I  am  sure 
that  it  will  satisfy  the  amour  propre  of  Perkins, 
the  Fakeer — a  consummation  devoutly  to  be 
wished. 

E.  S.  VAN  Z. 

Hartford,  Conn.,  March,  1903. 


CONTENTS. 


WHEN  REGINALD  WAS  CAROLINE. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  TRANSPOSED 15 

II.  A  WEIRD  TOILETTE  29 

III.  CAROLINE'S  USURPATION 43 

IV.  THE  STRENUOUS  LIFE 56 

V.  SUZANNE'S  BUSY  DAY 69 

VI.  VERSES  AND  VIOLETS 82 

VII.  IRRITATION  AND  CONSOLATION 94 

VIII.  NEWS  FROM  CAROLINE 106 

IX.  AFTERNOON  CALLERS 1 16 

X.  RECRIMINATIONS 128 

XL  A  DINNER  AND  A  DISCUSSION 140 

XII.  YAMAMA  AND  RELEASE 151 

HOW  CHOPIN  CAME  TO  REMSEN. 

I.  CHOPIN'S  OPUS  47 167 

II.  REMSEN  CONFRONTS  A  MYSTERY 179 

9 


Contents. 

CUAPTER  JACK 

III.  BIOGRAPHICAL  DATA — 190 

IV.  SlGNORINA    MOLATTl 2OI 

V.  A  POLISH  FANTASIA 212 

VI.  CONSULTING  A  SPECIALIST 221 

VILA  PRELIMINARY  CANTER , 234 

VIII.  THE  CHOPIN  SOCIETY 244 

IX.  AN  UNRECORDED  OPUS 254 

X.  TOM'S   RECOVERY 263 

CLARISSA'S  TROUBLESOME  BABY. 

I.  MY  LATE  HUSBAND 279 

II.  A  FOND  FATHER 288 

III.  MY  FIRST  AND  SECOND 298 

IV.  NURSERY  CONFESSIONS 308 

V.  A  SPOILED  CHILD 317 

VI.  PROTOPLASM  AX D  FROTH 326 

VII.  A  BIOLOGIST  AND  A  BABY 336 

VIII.  HUSH-A-BY,  NUMBER  ONE  ! 344 

IX.  A  BOSTON  GIRL 352 

X.  AN  UNCANNY  FLIRTATION 363 

XL  A  MYSTERIOUS  ELOPEMENT 372 


10 


I. 

When   Reginald   Was   Caroline. 


That  night  the  wife  of  King  S&ddhbdana, 
Maya  the  Queen,  asleep  beside  her  Lord, 
Dreamed  a  strange  dream. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  ASIA. 


WHEN  REGINALD  WAS  CAROLINE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

TRANSPOSED. 

But  what  a  mystery  this  erring  mind  ! 
It  wakes  within  a  frame  of  various  powers 
A  stranger  in  a  new  and  wondrous  world. 
— N.  P.  Willis. 

To  begin  at  the  beginning :  the  tragedy  or 
farce — whichever  it  may  prove  to  be — opened  just 
a  week  ago.  I  turned  on  my  side,  as  I  awoke 
last  Wednesday  morning,  to  look  into  my  wife's 
face,  and,  lo,  I  beheld,  as  in  a  mirror,  my  own 
countenance.  My  first  thought  was  that  I  was 
under  the  influence  of  the  tag  end  of  a  quaint 
dream,  but  presently  my  eyes,  or  rather  my  wife's, 
opened  slowly  and  an  expression  of  mingled  hor 
ror  and  amazement  shone  therein. 

"  What — what — "    groaned    Caroline,    in    my 

'5 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

voice,  plucking  at  my — or  perhaps  I  should  say 
our — beard.  "  Reginald,  am  I  mad — you  look — 
where  are  you?  What  is  this  on  my  chin — and 
what  have  you  done  to  yourself?  " 

Whether  to  laugh  or  swear  or  weep  I  hardly 
knew.  The  bedroom  looked  natural,  thank  God, 
or  I  think  that  at  the  outset  we  should  have 
lost  our  transposed  minds  even  more  completely 
than  we  had.  The  sun  came  in  through  the  win 
dow  as  usual.  I  could  see  my  trousers — if  they 
were  mine — lying  across  a  chair  at  the  further 
end  of  my  dressing-room.  It  was  all  common 
place,  natural,  homelike.  But  when  I  glanced 
again  at  my  wife,  there  she  lay,  pale  and  trem 
bling,  with  my  face,  beard,  tousled  hair  and  heavy 
features.  I  rubbed  a  slender  white  hand  across 
my  brow — or,  to  be  accurate,  the  brow  that  had 
been  my  wife's.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that 
something  uncanny,  supernatural,  theosophical 
or  diabolical  had  happened.  While  we  lay  dead 
with  sleep  our  respective  identities  had  changed 
places,  through  some  occult  blunder  that,  I  real- 

16 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

ized  clearly  enough,  was  certain  to  cause  us  no 
end  of  annoyance. 

"  Don't  move,"  I  whispered  to  Caroline,  and 
there  flashed  before  my  mind  a  circus-poster  that 
I  had  gazed  at  as  a  boy,  marveling  in  my  young 
impressionability  at  the  hirsute  miracle  that  had 
been  labeled  in  red  ink,  "  The  Bearded  Lady." 

"  Don't  move,"  I  continued,  hoping  against 
hope  that  by  prompt  measures  I  might  repair  the 
mysterious  damage  that  had  been  done  to  us  by 
this  psychical  transposition.  "  Shut  your  eyes, 
Caroline,  and  lie  perfectly  still.  Don't  worry,  my 
dear.  Make  your  mind  perfectly  blank — recep 
tive  to  impressions.  Now,  we'll  put  forth  an 
effort  together.  I'm  lying  with  my  eyes  closed, 
and  I  am  willing  myself  to  return  to  my  own 
body.  Do  likewise,  Caroline.  Don't  tremble  so! 
There's  no  danger.  Things  can't  be  worse,  can 
they?  There's  comfort  in  that,  is  there  not? 
Now !  Are  you  ready  ?  Use  your  will  power,  my 
dear,  for  all  it's  worth." 

We  lay  motionless,  blind,  silent  for  a  time. 

17 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

That  I  should  gaze  into  my  wife's  own  face  when 
I  opened  my  eyes  again  I  fondly  imagined,  for 
I  had  always  been  proud  of  my  force  of  will. 
Caroline,  too — as  I  had  good  reason  to  know — 
possessed  a  stubborn  determination  that  had  great 
dynamic  possibilities. 

"  Ready !  "  I  exclaimed,  presently.  "  Open 
your  eyes,  my  dear !  " 

Horror!  There  was  my  wife  gazing  at  me 
with  my  eyes  and  pulling  nervously  at  my  infer 
nal  beard.  As  she  saw  that  I  was  still  occupying 
her  fair  body,  my  eyes  began  to  fill,  and  a  man's 
hoarse  sobs  relieved  my  wife's  overwrought  feel 
ings. 

"Is  it — oh,  Reginald! — is  it  reincarnation,  do 
you  think  ?  "  she  questioned  in  her  misery. 

"  Ah,  something  of  that  nature,  I  fear,  Car 
oline,"  I  admitted,  reluctantly.  "  It's  a  new  one 
on  me,  anyway.  But  it  can't  last.  Don't  be 
impatient,  my  dear.  It'll  soon  pass  off." 

But  even  as  I  spoke  I  knew  that  I  was  using 
my  wife's  sweet,  soft  voice  for  deception.  What- 
18 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

ever  it  was,  it  had  come  to  stay — for  a  time  at 
least. 

"  I  think,  Reggie,  dear,  that,  if  you  don't  mind, 
I'll  have  breakfast  in  bed." 

Like  a  flash,  Caroline's  remark  revealed  to  me 
the  frightful  problems  that  would  crop  up  con 
stantly  from  our  present  plight.  Number  one  pre 
sented  itself  instantly;  I  had  an  important  en 
gagement  at  my  office  at  9:30.  If  Caroline  re 
mained  in  bed  I  couldn't  keep  it.  Then  it  came 
to  me  that  if  she  rose  and  dressed  I  should  be 
in  no  better  case.  Dressed?  She  would  be 
obliged  to  put  on  my  clothes,  anyway!  What 
other  alternative  was  there? 

"  I  think,  Caroline,  dear,"  I  suggested,  gently, 
"  that  we'd  better  wait  awhile  before  we  make 
our  plans.  It  may  go  away  suddenly.  A  change 
may  take  place  at  any  moment." 

"  It  came  in  our  sleep,  and  it'll  go  in  our  sleep," 
said  my  wife,  confidently,  and  I  was  struck  by 
the  gruffness  that  a  firm  conviction  gave  to  my 

19 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

voice.  I  had  never  noticed  it  when  I  had  been 
in  full  and  free  possession  thereof. 

"  If  we  could  only  go  to  sleep,"  I  sighed, 
glancing  again  at  my  trousers  and  suppressing 
a  harsh  expletive  that  arose  to  my  beautiful 
lips. 

"  I  couldn't  sleep,  Reginald.  I'm  sure  of  that. 
I  feel  a  horror  of  sleep,  but  I  need  something. 
Perhaps — oh,  Reggie,  it  can't  be  that! — but  I 
can't  help  thinking  that  I  want  a — a — cock 
tail." 

Caroline  hid  her  borrowed  face  in  my  great, 
clumsy  hands. 

It  required  an  effort  of  memory  for  me  to  put 
myself  into  sympathy  with  her  present  craving. 
I  hadn't  thought  of  a  cocktail  since  I  had  awak 
ened.  It  was  only  once  in  a  very  great  while  that 
I  indulged  in  an  eye-opener.  But  I  had  been  out 
very  late  Tuesday  night — in  fact,  it  had  been 
this  morning  before  I  had  reached  home  from  the 
club — and  I  was  not,  upon  reflection,  altogether 
astonished  at  the  wish  that  my  poor  wife  had 
29 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

expressed  wi  .h  such  awkward  coyness.  But  to 
grant  her  request  demanded  heroic  action,  and 
I  hesitated  lefore  taking  what  might  prove 
to  be  an  irrevocable  step.  If  I  left  the  bed 
under  existing  conditions,  a  temporary  psychical 
maladjustment  night  become  permanent.  Then, 
again,  I  realized  that  my  little  feet  felt  repelled 
by  the  chill  thai  would  come  to  them  if  exposed 
to  a  cold  draught  that  blew  through  a  window 
open  in  my — oi,  rather,  Caroline's — dressing- 
room.  \ 

"  Go  into  the-,  bathroom  and  take  a  cold 
plunge,"  I  suggested  to  Caroline,  to  gain  time. 
"  It's  more  bracing  than  a  cocktail." 

"  You  ought  to  know,  Reginald,"  she  re 
marked,  in  my  most  playful  voice. 

Her  ill-timed  jocosity  struck  me  as  ghastly. 

"  Caroline,  dear,"  I  began,  "  we  must  beware 
of  recriminations.  '  It  is  a  condition,  not  a  the 
ory,  that  confronts  us/  "  I  quoted,  mournfully, 
"  If  we  should  fall  out,  you  and  I " 

"  If  we  only  could !  "  sighed  Caroline. 
21 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"Could  what?"  I  cried,  in  shrill  falsetto. 

"  Fall  out,  Reginald,"  she  answered,  grimly. 
"Can't  you  think  of  something  slse  to  try? 
Really,  it's  too  absurd!  What  is  the  matter  with 
us,  Reggie?  Are  we  dreaming?  " 

I  listened,  intently.  The  servr  nts  were  astir 
down-stairs,  and  through  the  windows  came  the 
clatter  of  early  vehicles  and  the  thin  voice  of  a 
newsboy  crying  at  eight  o'clock  the  ten  o'clock 
"extra"  of  a  yellow  journal.  There  was  noth 
ing  in  our  environment  to  suggest  the  supernat 
ural  or  to  explain  a  mystery  tint  deepened  as  the 
moments  passed.  The  external  world  wTas  un 
changed,  and — startling  thought! — Caroline  and 
I  must  confront  it  presently  under  conditions  that 
were,  so  far  as  I  knew,  unprecedented  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  race. 

"  That's  no  dream ! "  I  exclaimed,  terror- 
stricken.  My  wife's  maid  had  rapped,  as  usual, 
at  the  outer  door  of  our  apartments.  "  Good  God, 
Caroline,  what  shall  we  do?" 

"  Tell  her  I  don't  want  her  this  morning,  Reg- 

22 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

inalcl !  Send  her  away,  will  you  ?  She  mustn't  see 
me — yet." 

"  But  my — your — this  hair,  Caroline?  How'll 
I  get  it  up  without  Suzanne's  help?  " 

"  I'll  do  it  for  you,"  answered  Caroline,  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  like  a  despairing  moan. 

"  Look  at  those  hands — my  hands,  Caroline ! 
You  can't  dress  hair  with  them.  Take  my  word 
for  that." 

Suzanne  rapped  again,  thinking,  doubtless,  that 
we  were  still  asleep. 

"  I'll  be  there  directly,  Suzanne,"  cried  Caro 
line,  in  my  voice. 

We  turned  cold  with  consternation.  What 
would  Suzanne  think  of  this?  My  reputation  in 
my  own  household  had  been  jeopardized  on  the 
instant. 

"  Caroline !  Caroline !  You  must  pull  yourself 
together !  "  I  whispered.  "  Have  courage,  and 
do  keep  your  wits  about  you!  Act  like  a  man, 
will  you?  Keep  quiet,  now.  I'll  speak  to  Su 
zanne." 

23 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

With  a  courage  begotten  by  desperation,  I  sat 
erect.  Fear  and  hope  had  been  at  war  within  me 
as,  for  the  first  time  since  I  had  awakened,  I 
changed  my  posture.  I  had  dreaded  the  uncanny 
sensation  that  would  spring  from  further  proof 
that  I  was  really  imprisoned  in  my  wife's  body. 
But  I  had  clung  to  a  shred  of  hope.  It  might 
be  that  Caroline  and  I  in  motion  would  find  the 
psychical  readjustment  that  had  been  denied  to  us 
in  repose.  I  was  instantly  undeceived.  As  I  sat 
up  in  bed,  Caroline's  luxuriant  dark  tresses  fell 
over  my  shoulders  and  I  looked  down  at  a  lock  of 
hair  that  lay  black  against  my  tapering  white  fin 
gers.  A  wave  of  physical  well-being  swept  over 
me,  and,  despite  the  horror  of  my  situation,  my 
heart  beat  with  a  great  joy  in  life.  The  blood 
came  into  my  well-rounded  cheeks,  as  I  recalled 
Caroline's  recent  request  for  a  cocktail.  What  a 
shame  it  was  that  a  big,  healthy  man  should  want 
a  stimulant  early  in  the  day ! 

"  Suzanne!  "  I  cried.  "  Suzanne,  are  you  still 
there?" 

24 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  Oni,  madame,"  came  the  maid's  voice,  a  note 
echoing  through  it  that  I  did  not  like. 

"  I  shall  not  want  you  for  fifteen  minutes,  Suz 
anne,"  I  said.  "  Come  back  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour."  I  felt  a  cold  chill  creeping  over  me,  and 
Caroline's  sweet  voice  trembled  slightly.  "  And 
may  the  devil  fly  away  with  you,  Suzanne ! "  I 
muttered,  as  I  fell  back  against  the  pillows. 

"  We've  had  our  sentence  suspended  for  fifteen 
minutes,  Caroline,"  I  said,  presently.  "  But  how 
the  deuce  am  I  going  to  get  through  my  toilet? 
My  French  is  not  like  yours,  my  dear,  and  you 
never  speak  English  to  Suzanne.  It's  actually 
immoral,  Caroline,  the  way  I  get  my  genders 
mixed  up  in  French." 

"  Oh,  don't  say  that,  Reginald!  "  exclaimed  my 
wife,  in  a  horrified  basso. 

"  Say  what,  Caroline?  "  I  asked,  petulantly. 

"  That  about  mixing  genders  being  immoral, 

Reggie,"  she  fairly  moaned.     "  I'm  not  immoral, 

even  if — if — if  I  have  got  your  gender,  Reginald. 

I  didn't  want  it,"  she  added,  sternly,  "  and  I  can't 

25 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

be  held  responsible  if  I  am  masculine  or  neuter 
or  intransitive.  My  advice  to  you,  Reginald,  is 
not  to  say  much  to  Suzanne  in  any  language." 

I  could  not  refrain  from  a  silvery  chuckle,  the 
sound  of  which  changed  my  mood  instantly. 

"  How  often  I've  said  that  to  you,  Caroline!" 
I  remarked,  most  unkindly. 

"  I  don't  gossip  with  Suzanne  any  more  than 
you  do  with  your  man,"  growled  Caroline,  in  a 
tone  that  hurt  me  deeply. 

My  man!  Great  Lucifer,  I  had  almost  for-  , 
gotten  his  existence.  He  would  be  in  my  dress 
ing-room  presently  to  trim  my  beard  and  make  of 
himself  a  nuisance  in  various  ways.  Jenkins  had 
his  good  points  as  a  valet,  but  he  was  too  talk 
ative  at  times  and  always  inquisitive.  I  could 
have  murdered  Suzanne  and  Jenkins  at  that  mo 
ment  with  good  appetite. 

"  Caroline,"  I  said,  gloomily,  "  Fate  has  or 
dained  that  you   a-nd   I,   for   some   reason   that 
is  not  apparent,  must  make    immediate    choice 
between  two  courses  of  action.     We  can  commit 
26 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

suicide — there's  a  revolver  in  the  room.  Or  we 
may  face  the  ordeal  bravely,  helping  each  other, 
as  the  day  passes,  to  conceal  from  the  world  our 
strange  affliction.  I  have  no  doubt  that  while  we 
sleep  to-night  the — ah — psychical  mistake  that 
has  been  made  will  be  rectified." 

My  voice  faltered  as  I  uttered  the  last  sentence. 
Neither  my  experience  nor  reading  had  furnished 
me  with  data  upon  which  I  could  safely  base  so 
optimistic  a  conclusion. 

"  I — I  don't  want  to  die,  Reggie/'  muttered 
Caroline,  with  a  gesture  of  protest. 

"  The  club  was  rather  quiet  last  night,"  I  re 
marked,  musingly;  but  my  wife  did  not  catch 
the  significance  of  the  words.  "  Well,  if  we're 
4*to  brace  up  and  stand  the  racket,  Caroline,  we 
must  begin  at  once.  You  must  give  me  a  few 
pointers  about  Suzanne.  I'll  reciprocate  of 
course,  and  you'll  have  no  trouble  in  bluffing 
Jenkins  to  a  standstill.  There  he  is  now!  Call 
out  to  him,  my  dear.  Don't  be  afraid  of  using 
27 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

— ah — my  voice.  Tell  him  you  are  coming  to  him 
at  once."  Unbroken  silence  ensued. 

"  Now,  Caroline,  be  a  man — that's  a  good  girl ! 
Tell  him  you'll  be  out  in  five  minutes." 

My  wife's  stalwart  figure  was  shaking  with 
nervousness. 

"  Oh — ah — oh,  Jenkins,"  she  roared,  presently. 
"  Jenkins,  go  away.  I  don't  want  you  this  morn 
ing.  Go  away !  go  away !  Do  you  hear  me  ?  Go 
away ! " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  came  Jenkins's  voice  to  us,  amaze 
ment  and  flunkeyism  mingled  therein  in  equal 
parts.  "  Yes,  sir.  I'm  going  at  once,  sir." 

"Now  you  have  done  it,  Caroline!"  I  cried, 
in  a  high  treble  of  anger.  "  Great  Scott !  how  that 
man  will  talk  down-stairs ! " 

For  a  moment  the  sun-lighted  room  whirled 
before  my  eyes  like  a  golden  merry-go-round,  and 
I  lay  there,  limp  and  helpless,  awaiting  in  misery 
Suzanne's  imminent  return. 


28 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  WEIRD  TOILETTE. 

My  spirit  wrestles  in  anguish 
With  fancies  that  will  not  depart ; 

A  ghost  who  borrowed  my  semblance 
Has  hid  in  the  depth  of  my  heart. 

—Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen. 

"  MADAME  seems  to  be  in  very  low  spirits  this 
morning,"  Suzanne  had  the  audacity  to  remark 
to  me  as  she  deftly  manipulated  my  wife's  dark, 
luxuriant  hair,  to  my  infinite  annoyance.  She 
spoke  in  French,  a  language  that  always  rubs 
me  the  wrong  way.  I  gazed  restlessly  at  the 
dainty  furnishings  of  Caroline's  dressing-room, 
and  remained  silent. 

Presently  Suzanne  spoke  again.  "  I  hope  that 
madame  has  received  no  bad  news." 

"  Great  Scott,  girl!  what  are  you  driving  at?  " 
I  heard  my  wife's  voice  exclaim,  and  my  reck- 
29 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

lessness  appalled  me.  Suzanne  was  paralyzed  for 
a  moment.  I  could  see  her  pretty  face  in  the  mir 
ror,  and  it  had  turned  pale  on  the  instant. 

"  Pardon  me,  madame,"  she  gasped,  "  but  I — 
I  thought " 

"  Don't  think!  "  I  cried,  crossly.  "  Tie  up  my 
— this — ah,  hair,  and  let  me  do  the  thinking,  will 
you?" 

Repentance  for  my  harsh  words  came  to  me 
at  once.  Suzanne  stifled  a  gasp  and  a  sob  and 
continued  her  work  as  a  coiffeuse.  I  realized  that 
I  must  control  my  impulsiveness  at  once.  I  had 
never  understood  what  my  friends  had  meant 
when  they  had  accused  me  of  a  lack  of  imagina 
tion.  I  had  taken  pride  in  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
straightforward,  two-plus-two-makes-four  kind 
of  a  man,  not  given  to  foolish  fancies  nor  errant 
day-dreams.  I  had  attributed  my  success  in  bus 
iness  to  this  tendency  toward  the  matter-of-fact, 
but  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  regretted 
my  lack  of  imaginative  power.  I  must,  for  my 
dear  Caroline's  sake — yes,  in  the  name  of  com- 
30 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

mon  decency — preserve  my  psychical  incognito 
in  the  presence  of  my  wife's  maid.  Suddenly,  I 
was  startled  by  hearing  my  voice  in  the  bath 
room  uttering  something  that  sounded  much  like 
an  exclamation  of  horror.  In  my  consternation 
I  sat  erect,  listening  intently. 

"What  is  the  matter,  madame?"  whispered 
Suzanne,  excitedly.  "  Monsieur,  too,  seems  out 
of  sorts  this  morning." 

I  realized  that  Caroline  had  found  sufficient 
courage  to  set  out  in  quest  of  the  cold  plunge 
that  I  had  advised  in  lieu  of  a  cocktail.  There 
came  the  sound  of  running  water  from  the  bath 
room. 

"  Go  on,  Suzanne,"  I  said,  gently.  "  Get 
through  with  this  hair  of  mine,  will  you? 
There's  nothing  the  matter.  Caroline — Reginald 
— ah — Mr.  Stevens  didn't  get  quite  enough  sleep, 
that's  all.  He's  made  the  spray  too  cold." 

Suzanne's  hands  trembled  perceptibly  as  she 
resumed  her  task. 

"  There's  a  note  for  madame  this  morning," 
31 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

she  said,  presently,  lowering  her  voice  again,  and 
always  speaking  her  detestable  mother-tongue. 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  I  remarked,  astonished 
at  the  maid's  manner.  "  Her — ah — my  mail  is 
full  of  'em.  Who's  the  note  from,  Suzanne?  " 

"  Madame  is  so  remote  to-day !  "  murmured 
Suzanne,  helplessly.  "  Did  I  not  tell  madame  that 
he  would  write  to  her  ?  " 

A  chill  ran  through  my  veins,  but  I  made  nei 
ther  sound  nor  movement.  Apparently  my  wife's 
maid  had  become  a  discreet  postmistress,  whose 
good  offices  it  might  behoove  me  to  look  into. 

"  I'll  read  the  note  later  in  the  day,  Suzanne. 
Are  you  nearly  done  with  this  infernal  hair  ?  " 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  exclaimed  the  girl,  but  she  went 
no  further. 

A  splash,  a  groan,  followed  by  a  hoarse  yell, 
echoed  through  the  suite. 

"Damn  it!"  I  cried,  desperately.  "Why 
didn't  Jenkins  stay  here?  She — he'll  never  get 
dressed !  " 

"Where  is  Jenkins,  madame?"  asked  Su- 
32 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

zanne,  nervously.  "  Monsieur  seems  to  be  ex 
cited.  And  madame — what  is  the  matter  with 
madame  ?  " 

The  girl's  consternation  was  not  strange.  Car 
oline,  the  grand  dame,  gentle,  self-poised,  unex- 
citable,  sat  before  the  wide-eyed  Suzanne,  swear 
ing  in  a  voice  that  had  been  fashioned  by  nature 
for  nothing  harsher  than  a  drawing-room  expletive. 

"  Caroline,"  came  my  wife's  borrowed  voice, 
faintly,  as  if  she  were  talking  to  herself.  It  was 
'some  time  before  I  realized  that  she  was  calling 
me. 

"  Yes — ah — Reginald !  "  I  managed  to  cry,  in  a 
trembling  falsetto. 

"  Monsieur  seems  to  want  you,  madame,"  said 
Suzanne,  wonderingly.  "  Where  is  Jenkins, 
madame?  " 

"  God  only  knows ! "  I  exclaimed,  desperately. 
"  Down-stairs,  I  suppose,  talking  through  his  hat. 
Send  him  to  me  at  once,  girl." 

"  Madame !  Jenkins  ?  Send  Jenkins  to  you  ? 
Madame,  I  do  not  comprehend." 

3  33      4 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  To  me  ?  I  didn't  say  to  me,  did  I  ?  Send 
him  to  Car — Reginald — Mr.  Stevens!  Wasn't 
that  what  I  said?  Go,  Suzanne!  And — wait  a 
minute.  If  you  mention  my  name  to  Jenkins — 
that  is,  if  you  gossip  with  him  coming  up-stairs, 
I'll  dismiss  you  this  morning.  Tell  Jenkins  to 
hold  his  chattering  tongue,  or  he'll  get  the  grand 
— ah,  manner  nayst  palif' 

Suzanne  burst  into  tears,  and,  instead  of  obey 
ing  my  behest,  fell,  with  true  French  impetuosity, 
upon  her  knees  at  my  feet,  and,  seizing  my  cold 
hands,  buried  her  face  in  them,  sobbing  hysteric 
ally. 

"  Oh,  madame !  madame !  What  have  I  done 
to  deserve  this?"  she  moaned,  in  her  diabolical 
French.  "  Why  do  you  speak  to  me — treat  me 
— this  way?  It  is  so  cruelly  cruel!  Oh,  madame, 
have  I  not  been  faithful,  discreet,  blind,  deaf, 
dumb?  Have  I  ever  betrayed  even  a  little,  little 
secret  of  yours?  " 

"  Caroline !  '  There  was  a  note  of  mingled 
anger  and  dismay  in  my  voice  as  it  came  to  me, 
34 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

harsh  and  unwelcome,  from  my  distant  dress 
ing-room,  the  door  of  which  Caroline  had 
closed. 

"  I  must  go  to  her ! "  I  cried,  springing  to 
my  feet,  and  tripping  over  my  dressing-gown  as 
I  pushed  by  the  kneeling,  hysterical  maid.  Su 
zanne  grasped  what  I  now  believe  to  have  been 
the  hem  of  my  garment. 

"  Oh,  madame,  you  must  not  go  to  him !  Mon 
sieur's  voice  is  so  wild!  I  am  sure  that  he  is 
not  well.  You  must  rest  here,  madame!  See,  I 
am  going.  I  will  send  Jenkins  to  monsieur  at 
once.  Mon  Dieu!  Mon  Dieu!  I  go,  madame! 
I  shall  return  to  you  very  soon." 

Suzanne  had  really  gone,  and,  pulling  myself 
together  by  a  strong  effort  of  will,  I  stumbled 
from  the  dressing-room,  crossed  our  bed-chamber 
and  knocked  on  the  door,  behind  which  I  could 
hear  Caroline  uttering  subdued  exclamations  in 
my  raucous  voice. 

"  Who's  there  ?  Go  away !  Who  is  it  ?  "  cried 
my  wife,  in  a  panic. 

35 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Don't  get  rattled,  my  dear,"  I  called  out,  in 
Caroline's  sweetest  tones.  "  Suzanne  has  gone  to 
find  Jenkins.  Let  me  in,  my  dear.  I  may  be 
able  to  give  you  a  few  tips." 

The  door  flew  open  and  I  saw  that  Caroline 
had  managed  to  don  my  underclothing.  My 
heavy  features  displayed  the  joy  that  my  wife  felt 
at  my  arrival.  I  learned  afterward  that  she  had 
been  having  serious  trouble  with  my  linen  shirt. 

"  Oh,  Reggie,"  she  exclaimed,  making  my 
voice  tremble  with  emotion.  "  I've  had  such  a 
horrible  time !  "  She  threw  my  great,  muscular 
arms  around  her  neck,  and  I  felt  my  beard 
scratching  my — her  smooth,  delicate  cheeks. 

"  Sit  down,  Caroline,  and  calm  yourself,"  I 
implored  her.  "  This  is  no  time  for  this  kind  of 
thing.  We've  got  but  a  moment  to  ourselves. 
Suzanne  has  gone  to  bring  Jenkins  back." 

Caroline  shuddered,  but  said  nothing. 

'  You  gave  me  a  terrible  shock,  my  dear,"  I 
remarked,  calmly.     "  I  feared  that  some  terrible 
accident  had  happened  to  you." 
36 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  The  very  worst  has  happened,  Reggie,"  she 
mused,  in  something  like  a  prolonged  growl.  "  I 
don't  think  I'll  ever  be  able  to  go  through  with 
it." 

"  We've  made  a  bad  beginning,  Caroline.  I'll 
admit  that.  But  all  is  not  yet  lost.  Jenkins  and 
Suzanne  doubtless  imagine  that  you  are  merely 
suffering  from  a  somewhat  stubborn  and  persist 
ent  jag." 

"  How  horribly  vulgar !  "  groaned  Caroline. 

"  Don't  disabuse  Jenkins's  mind  of  the  idea," 
I  implored  her.  "  It's  hard  on  you,  I'll  admit, 
but  it's  better  than  the  truth.  We  can't  tell  them 
that  we've  changed  bodies  for  a  time.  They'd 
think  us  crazy,  Caroline." 

"  We  will  be,  Reginald,"  growled  the  dismayed 
giant,  seemingly  on  the  verge  of  tears.  "  If  I 
were  only  dressed  I  wouldn't  be  so  frightened. 
But  you  are  such  a  clumsy  creature,  Reggie." 

I  sprang  to  my  feet.  I  thought  I  heard  voices 
in  the  lower  hall. 

"  They're  coming,  Caroline.  Don't  say  much 
37 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

to  Jenkins,  but,  if  you  think  of  it,  my  dear,  swear 
at  him  softly  now  and  then.  It'll  quiet  his  sus 
picions,  if  he  has  any." 

As  I  started  to  leave  the  room,  I  turned  sharp 
ly,  and  eyed  my  own  face  searchingly.  Imitating 
Suzanne's  voice  as  well  as  I  could,  I  said : 

"  There's  a  note  for  madame  this  morning. 
Did  I  not  tell  madame  that  he  would  write  to 
her?" 

Bitterly  did  I  regret  my  untimely  sarcasm. 
Caroline,  white  to  the  lips,  tottered  where  she 
stood. 

"  Reginald ! "  she  cried,  in  a  deep,  horror- 
stricken  voice  that  could  have  been  heard  through 
out  the  house  and  in  the  street  outside. 

Rushing  back,  I  helped  her  towards  a  chair. 

"  It's  all  right,  Caroline,"  I  said,  in  dulcet, 
pleading  tones.  "  Don't  mind  it,  my  dear.  I  am 
sure  that  you  will  be  able  to  explain  the — ah — 
little  matter  wholly  to  my  satisfaction."  Then 
a  thought  flashed  through  my  mind  that  was  like 
a  cold  douche,  and  I  added :  "  And  don't  forget 
38 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

about  Jenkins,  my  dear.  Don't  encourage  him  to 
talk.  And,  above  all,  don't  believe  anything  that 
he  may  say.  He's  a  most  stupendous  liar." 

With  that  I  hurried  back  to  Caroline's  dressing- 
room  just  in  time  to  seat  myself  before  Suzanne, 
panting  from  haste  and  excitement,  rushed  into 
the  room. 

"  Jenkins,  madame,"  she  cried,  wringing  her 
hands,  "  Jenkins  is  a  villain,  a  rascal,  a  scoun 
drel."  The  girl  appeared  to  have  a  long  list  of 
opprobrious  French  epithets  in  her  vocabulary. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Suzanne,"  I  said,  coolly. 
"  You  have  sent  Jenkins  to  monsieur  ?  " 

"  Alas,  madame,  he  refused  to  obey  me  unless 
I  agreed  to  kiss  him.  The  horrid,  degenerate,  un 
principled  English  beast!  Mon  Dieu!  I  could 
not  kiss  him,  madame." 

"  Curse  the  man's  devilish  impudence !  "  I  ex 
claimed,  while  Suzanne  stared  at  me,  her  pretty 
mouth  wide  open  in  amazement. 

"  You  say  such  queer  things  to-day,  madame !  " 
she  murmured,  presently,  resuming  her  duties  in 
39 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

a  melancholy  way.     "  What  will  madame  wear 
for  breakfast?  " 

Her  question  startled  me.  My  mind  endeav 
ored,  without  much  success,  to  recall  Caroline's 
morning  costumes. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  her — ah — my  plum- 
colored — ah — tea-gown?"  I  asked,  recklessly. 

"  Madame  is  jocose — facetious,"  remarked  Su 
zanne,  pretending  to  laugh.  I  reflected  bitterly 
that  I  could  not  see  the  joke. 

"  You  have  such  excellent  taste,  Suzanne,"  I 
said,  proud  of  my  cleverness.  "  Tog  me  out  in 
any  old  thing.  But  it  must  be  warm  and  snug, 
girl.  I  have  had  chills  up  my  back  until  I  feel 
like  a  small  icicle  in  a  cold  wind."  Suddenly  an 
inspiration  came  to  me.  "  Suzanne,  you'll  find  a 
bottled  cocktail  in  the  bedroom  closet.  Never 
mind  the  cracked  ice.  Pour  me  out  about  four 
fingers  and  bring  it  to  me  at  once.  Don't  stare 
at  me  like  that,  girl!  Quick  work,  now.  And 
— ah — don't  let  Caro — that  is,  Mr.  Stevens  hear 
you.  Go ! " 

40 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Suzanne,  pale  with  amazement,  hurried  away 
to  find  the  stimulant  that  had  become  suddenly  the 
one  thing  on  earth  that  I  really  desired.  Pres 
ently,  she  returned,  carrying  a  half-filled  cocktail 
glass. 

"Here's  how,  Suzanne!"  I  cried,  joyously, 
forgetting  caste  distinctions  in  my  delight  at  the 
opportunity  of  restoring  my  waning  vitality.  I 
swallowed  the  smooth  concoction  at  a  gulp,  Su 
zanne  watching  me  with  a  puzzled  smile  on  her 
disturbed  countenance. 

"  Jenkins  is  with  monsieur,"  she  remarked  as 
she  took  the  empty  glass  from  my  white,  slender 
hand.  Apprehension  clutched  at  my  heart  again. 

"  Does — ah — Mr.  Stevens — monsieur — seem 
to  be — ah — quiet  ?  "  I  asked,  eagerly. 

"  I  didn't  hear  his  voice,  madame,"  answered 
Suzanne,  arranging  a  sky-blue  morning-gown  for 
my  use.  "  But  Jenkins  is  talking,  talking,  talk 
ing  all  the  time,  madame." 

"  Damn  him  for  a  confounded  cockney  gas 
bag!  "  I  murmured,  despondently,  but  fortunately 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Suzanne  was  at  that  moment  busy  at  the  further 
end  of  the  dressing-room.  I  stood  erect,  impa 
tient  of  further  delay. 

"  Look  here,  girl,"  I  exclaimed,  "  will  you  quit 
this  fussy  nonsense  and  get  me  out  of  here  ?  I've 
got  an  engagement  at " 

My  sweet,  velvety  voice  failed  me  as  I  realized 
that  I  was  again  forgetting  myself,  or,  rather, 
Caroline. 

The  long  suffering  Suzanne  was  at  my  side,  in 
stantly. 

"  Madame  may  go  now,"  she  said,  giving  a 
finishing  touch  here  and  there  to  my  hair  and 
costume.  I  made  for  the  bedroom  eagerly,  but 
tripped  over  my  dress,  recovering  my  equilibrium 
and  went  on.  Suzanne  said  something  to  herself 
in  French,  but  the  only  words  that  came  distinctly 
to  my  ears  were: 

"  Le  cocktail!    II  est  diabolique!  " 


CHAPTER  III. 
CAROLINE'S   USURPATION. 

In  philosophic  mood  last  night,  as  idly  I  was  lying, 

That  souls  may  transmigrate,  methought,  there  could  be  no 

denying ; 

So  just  to  know  to  what  I  owe  propensities  so  strong, 
I  drew  my  soul  into  a  chat— our  gossip  lasted  long. 

— B&ranger. 

IT  was  not  wholly  unpleasant  to  find  myself 
facing  Caroline  across  the  breakfast-table.  There 
she  sat,  attired  in  my  most  becoming  gray  busi 
ness  suit,  in  outward  seeming  a  large,  well- 
groomed  man-of-the-world.  The  light  in  her — 
or  my — eyes  suggested  the  possibility  that  she  had 
found  compensations  for  her  soul's  change  of 
base.  If  that  was  the  case,  Caroline  was  more 
to  be  envied  than  I  was,  for,  despite  the  feminine 
beauty  that  had  become  mine  for  a  time,  I  was 
43 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

wholly  ill-at-ease  and  disgruntled.  My  hand 
trembled  and  I  spilled  the  coffee  that  it  had  be 
come  my  duty  to  serve.  Jones,  our  phlegmatic 
butler,  appeared  to  be  politely  astonished  at  my 
clumsiness  and  glanced  at  me  furtively  now  and 
again. 

"  Two  lumps,  Caroline  ?  "  I  asked,  absently. 
Catching  my  wife's  masculine  eye,  I  felt  the  blood 
rush  to  my  cheeks.  "  Reginald,  I  mean !  " 

"  Three  lumps,  and  plenty  of  cream,  Caro 
line,"  said  my  wife,  with  ready  wit.  What  a 
domineering  note  there  was  in  my  voice  when 
used  vicariously!  I  wondered  if  Caroline  had 
noticed  it. 

"  You  may  go,  Jones,"  I  said,  presently.  "  I'll 
ring  if  we  need  you." 

A  gleam  of  surprise  came  into  the  butler's  eyes, 
but  he  controlled  it  instantly,  and  strode  from 
the  breakfast-room  like  a  liveried  automaton. 

"  You  are  not  eating,  Reginald,"  said  my  wife, 
in  a  gruff  whisper,  glancing  at  the  door  through 
which  Jones  had  made  his  exit.  "  You  must  not 
44 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

give  way  to  your  nervousness,  dear  boy.  You'll 
need  all  your  strength  before  the  day  is  over." 

"  Gad,  you're  right — if  I  can  judge  by  the  last 
hour,  Caroline,"  I  remarked,  endeavoring  by  force 
of  will  to  beget  an  appetite  for  toast  and  eggs. 
"  Just  hand  me  my  letters,  will  you  ?  Here  are 
yours,  my  dear." 

I  saw  the  masculine  cheeks  redden,  but  Caro 
line  made  no  effort  to  act  upon  the  suggestion 
that  I  had  thrown  out. 

"  Reggie !  Reggie !  "  she  moaned,  hoarsely, 
"  is  there  no  help  for  us  ?  Can't  you  think  of 
something  that  will  change  us  back  again?  It's 
simply  unbearable.  Sometimes  it  makes  me 
laugh,  but  I  almost  died  before  I  got  out  of  the 
bath-room.  And  Jenkins  was  simply  detestable! 
You  must  get  us  out  of  this,  Reginald,  or  I  warn 
you  I  shall  read  these  letters,  go  down  to  your 
office  and  your  club — and  enjoy  life  in  your  way 
for  a  while,  my  dear." 

There  was  something  in  all  this  that  I  did  not 
altogether  like,  but  I  smiled  as  I  said: 

45 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Are  you  laboring  under  the  delusion,  Caro 
line,  that  my  daily  life,  filled  to  overflowing  with 
business  cares  that  you  know  nothing  about,  is 
pleasanter  than  yours  ?  You  can  do  as  you  please 
all  day  long — see  people  or  deny  yourself  to  them, 
as  you  choose.  I  had  noticed  a  tendency  upon  your 
part,  my  dear,  before  this — ah — accident  occurred, 
to  complain  that  your  existence  was  dull,  that  a 
man  had  a  happier  lot  than  a  woman.  It's  all  bosh, 
that  idea.  From  the  moment  when  I  leave  this 
house  in  the  morning,  Caroline,  I  am  a  slave  to 
duties  that  I  cannot  shirk.  I  am  under  a  terrific 
strain  all  day  long.  As  for  you,  my  dear,  you 
may  go  and  come  as  you  please,  see  the  people  you 
like,  and  dodge  those  you  detest;  take  a  nap  if 
you're  tired,  a  drive  if  you're  suffocated,  a  walk 
if  you  feel  energetic.  And  you  have  nothing  but 
petty  worries  that  don't  amount  to  a  row  of  beans. 
Great  Scott !  Caroline,  what  an  easy  job  a  woman 
in  your  position  has !  " 

Caroline  refused  to  meet  my  gaze,  and  I  ob 
served  with  annoyance  that  my  eyes  sometimes 
46 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

had  a  shifty  way  with  them.  She  had  placed 
one  large  relentless  hand  over  my  small  pile  of 
letters.  Presently,  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  indi 
cated  a  stubborn  spirit : 

"  You  are  off  the  track,  Reginald.  What  I 
want  to  know  is  whether  you  think  that  we  have 
exhausted  every  method  for  getting  out  of  this 
queer  scrape?  " 

"  Drop  that,  will  you,  Caroline?  "  I  exclaimed, 
petulantly.  "  I'm  no  theosophist  nor  faith-curist. 
I'm  not  going  to  fool  with  this  thing  at  all.  If 
we  get  to  tampering  with  it — whatever  it  is — you 
may  find  yourself  in  Jenkins's  shoes  and  I  may 
be  Suzanne  or  Jones  for  a  change.  I'm  banking 
on  a  readjustment  in  our  sleep  to-night.  Until 
then,  we'll  have  to  accept  the  situation  as  it 
stands." 

"  Then  I'm  going  to  boss  things,  Reggie,"  re 
marked  my  wife,  firmly.  "  If  I'm  obliged  to  get 
about  in  your  great,  hulking  figure,  my  dear,  I'm 
going  to  enjoy  all  the  perquisites  for  the  next  few 
hours.  I  don't  believe — I  never  did  believe — 
47 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

that  you  work  half  as  hard  as  you  say  you  do, 
nor  that  you  have  such  horrible  dragons  to  slay 
every  day  before  dinner.  Then,  I  want  you  to 
see  for  yourself  how  much  leisure  I  really  enjoy. 
You  can  stay  at  home  and  run  my  affairs,  Reg 
gie,  dear.  I'm  going  down -town  to  see  'the 
boys  '  at  work !  " 

"  Good  heavens,  Caroline,  you  are  joking!  "  I 
cried,  my  delicate  hand  trembling  as  I  endeavored 
to  raise  my  coffee-cup  to  my  white  lips.  "  It 
would  be  utter  madness — what  you  plan !  I'll  have 
to  let  things  slide  for  to-day.  I'll  telephone  to 
the  office  saying  that  I'm  down  with  the  grip. 
Grip?  That's  good,"  I  went  on,  hysterically. 
"  It's  just  what  we've  lost,  Caroline.  But  never 
mind !  It's  a  word  that  will  serve  my  turn.  And 
then,  my  dear,  we'll  pass  the  day  together  here. 
We  might  get  a  readjustment  at  any  moment, 
don't  you  see,  if  we  stick  close  to  each  other.  If 
you're  down- town — great  Nebuchadnezzar!  any 
thing  might  happen  to  us,  Caroline." 

"  But  there's  the  telephone,  Reginald,"  sug- 
48 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

gested  my  wife,  coldly.  "  As  soon  as  I  reach 
your  office  I'll  call  you  up.  If  you  don't  leave 
the  house  to-day  you'll  have  me  at  the  end  of 
a  'phone  most  of  the  time.  And  let  me  tell  you, 
Reggie,  you'll  need  me.  I  am  very  much  in 
clined  to  think,  my  dear,  that  you'll  wonder,  be 
fore  the  day  is  over,  what  has  become  of  my  sine 
cure.  I  am  quite  sure  that  you'll  not  find  time 
for  a  great  many  naps." 

"  If  you  leave  me,  Caroline,"  I  said,  musingly, 
"  I  shouldn't  dare  to  fall  asleep.  But  I  really 
can't  believe,  my  dear,  that  you  seriously  con 
template  the  expedition  you  have  mentioned. 
You'll  have  the  devil's  own  time,  let  me  tell  you, 
Caroline.  Let  me  glance  at  that  memorandum- 
book  in  your  inside  coat-pocket.  Thanks.  Wed 
nesday?  To-day  is  Wednesday.  Nine-thirty — 
Boggs  and  Scranton.  We'll  scratch  that  off.  I'm 
late  for  that,  as  it  is.  Rogers !  "  To  myself,  I 
cried :  "  Lord,  she  mustn't  meet  Rogers !  I 
shouldn't  have  given  him  my  office  address." 

As  I  glanced  through  the  day's  appointments, 
4  49 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

item  by  item,  my  horror  grew  apace.  Caroline, 
if  she  went  to  my  office,  was  bound  to  derive  a 
wholly  false  impression  of  the  general  tenor  of 
my  life.  There  would  be  so  many  things  that 
would  be  open  to  misconstruction!  Unimagina 
tive  I  might  be,  but  my  memoranda  enabled  me 
to  foretell  just  what  kind  of  an  experience  awaited 
Caroline  in  my  daily  haunts.  The  methods  by 
which  a  successful  business  is  conducted  in  New 
York  would  puzzle  her  sorely,  and  place  me  in  a 
most  uncomfortable  light. 

"  It  can't  be  done,  my  dear,"  I  said,  presently; 
and  Caroline's  sweet  voice  annoyed  me  by  its 
lack  of  an  imperative  note.  It  seemed  to  beat 
impotently  against  that  stubborn-looking  counte 
nance  across  the  breakfast-table.  "  You'd  bungle 
matters  most  desperately  if  I  allowed  you  to  go 
down.  As  it  is,  I  dread  the  outcome  of  my  en 
forced  absence.  Playing  lady  to-day  will  cost 
me  a  cool  ten  thousand,  at  the  very  least." 

I  could  see,  plainly  enough,  that  what  I  had 
said  had  made  very  little  impression  upon  my 

50 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

wife.  Perhaps  she  doubted  my  word  or  felt 
confidence  in  her  own  business  ability.  In  des 
peration,  I  took  a  new  tack. 

"  I  think,  Caroline,  that,  on  the  whole,  it  would 
be  much  better  for  you  to  remain  here  with  me 
and  tell  me  all  about  that  note  to  which  Suzanne 
referred.  It  may  take  some  time,  my  dear,  to 
get  that — ah — little  matter  straightened  out." 

My  eyes  never  wavered  as  I  gazed  into  their 
depths. 

"  It's  easily  explained,  Reggie,  dear,"  said 
Caroline,  coldly.  "  It  will  take  me  but  a  moment. 
As  to  your  interpretation  of  what  Jenkins  has 
been  saying  to  me — that,  of  course,  is  another 
matter.  Your  explanations  may  require  consid 
erable  time,  Reggie,  darling." 

I  dropped  my  coffee-cup,  which  went  to  pieces 
with  its  saucer. 

"  Jenkins  ?  "  I  cried ;  in  a  tone  so  high  that  it 
gave  me  a  headache.  "  Didn't  I  warn  you  that 
he  was  a  great  liar,  Caroline?  You  mustn't  be 
lieve  more  than  ten  per  cent,  of  what  he  says." 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  H'm !  "  growled  Caroline,  while  she  glanced 
idly  at  the  outside  of  the  envelopes  beside  her 
coffee-cup. 

"  I  tell  you,  Caroline,"  I  went  on,  feverishly, 
wondering  why  I  had  grown  to  hate  my  wife's 
voice  so  quickly,  "  I  tell  you,  Caroline,  that  Jen 
kins  is  a  waif  from  the  School  for  Scandal.  He 
was  valet  to  Lord  Runabout  before  he  came  over 
here.  Jenkins's  standards,  I  must  say,  are  low. 
You  know  what  Runabout  is,  my  dear.  Well, 
Jenkins  seems  to  think  that  to  be  a  gentleman 
one  must  have  Runabout's  tastes.  I  was  idly 
curious  at  first  to  hear  what  Jenkins  had  to  say. 
Naturally,  he  got  a  wrong  impression,  and  there 
you  are!  Sometimes,  Caroline,  you'd  think,  to 
hear  Jenkins  talk  to  me,  that  I  was  a  wild  blade, 
a  dare-devil  rake,  of  trfe  latest  English  pattern. 
In  certain  moods,  he  amuses  me ;  at  other  times,  I 
don't  listen  to  him.  But  I  can  readily  under 
stand,  my  dear,  what  a  shock  he  must  have  given 
you.  Of  course,  you  couldn't  know — I  should 
have  told  you  more  about  it  in  detail — that  I'm 

52 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

really  a  hero  to  my  valet.  It's  not  a  nice  kind  of 
hero,  of  course,  but  it's  the  kind  that  Jenkins  ad 
mires.  In  short,  Caroline,  dear,  while  I'm  Dr. 
Jekyll  to  the  world,  I'm  Mr.  Hyde  to  my  man." 

"  H'm,"  came  my  gruff  voice  again,  and  there 
was  a  smile  on  my  face  that  aroused  my  anger. 
During  our  five  years  of  married  life  I  had  never 
lost  my  temper  with  Caroline.  But  her  present 
manner,  made  doubly  offensive  by  the  use  of  my 
own  body  as  its  medium,  filled  me  with  rage. 

"  By  the  eternal  horn  spoon,  Caroline,  you  must 
drop  that !  "  I  cried,  in  a  shrill  treble.  "  If  you 
say  '  h'm  '  to  me  again  in  that  cheap  actor's  man 
ner— I'll— I'll— " 

"  Get  a  divorce,  perhaps,"  suggested  Caroline, 
pleasantly.  "  Come,  come,  Reginald,  you've  gone 
far  enough.  You  have  no  cause  for  anger — un 
less,  indeed,  your  conscience  goads  you.  But  I've 
put  up  a  flag  of  truce.  Suppose  we  drop  this  un 
pleasant  subject  foir  the  present."  Here  she 
calmly  stuck  my  letters  into  a  pocket  of  my  coat. 
"  I'll  look  these  over  riding  down-town.  Just 

53 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ring  for  Jones,  will  you,  and  ask  him  if  the  coupe 
is  at  the  door." 

"  Caroline !  Caroline !  "  I  moaned,  falling  back 
in  my  chair,  limp  and  hopeless,  "  you  must  not — 
you  dare  not  attempt  this  mad  prank !  I  tell  you, 
Caroline,  that  you  will  regret  your  foolhardiness 
to  the  last  day  of  your  life." 

"  Listen  to  me,  Reginald,"  said  my  wife,  stand 
ing  erect  and  drawing  herself  up  to  my  full 
height.  "  Jones  will  come  to  you  up-stairs  for 
his  orders.  Think  of  it,  my  dear!  You  can  or 
der  whatever  you  like  best  for  dinner.  The  Van 
Tromps  and  Edgertons  dine  with  us  to-night. 
Don't  forget  that." 

I  groaned  aloud,  and  felt  the  tears  rushing  to 
Caroline's  beautiful  eyes. 

"  This  morning,"  she  went  on,  seemingly  in 
high  spirits,  "  my  new  ball  dress  should  arrive. 
Mrs  Taunton — you  never  liked  her,  Reggie,  but 
she's  really  charming — is  to  lunch  with  me. 
Professor  Von  Gratz  will  be  here  at  eleven  to 
hear  me  play  Beethoven's  Opus  22.  He's  apt  to 

54 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

be  severe,  but  don't  mind  him,  my  dear.  His 
bark  is  worse  than  his  bite."  Caroline  bent  down 
and  touched  the  bell  in  front  of  me. 

"Is  the  coupe  ready,  Jones?"  she  asked,  as 
the  butler  entered. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Ta-ta,  Reggie,"  cried  my  wife,  in  my  most 
playful  voice.  "  I'll  call  you  by  'phone  the  mo 
ment  I  reach  the  office.  Hope  you'll  have  a 
pleasant  day.  Ta-ta !  " 

A  moment  later,  I  sat  alone  in  the  breakfast- 
room,  gazing  down  at  my  broken  coffee-cup  and 
saucer.  I  regretted  their  accidental  destruction. 
It  would  have  pleased  me  now  to  smash  them  by 
design. 


55 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  STRENUOUS  LIFE. 

No  longer  memory  whispers  whence  arose 
The  doom  that  tore  me  from  my  place  of  pride. 

—  Whittier. 

I  HAD  had  the  telephone  placed  in  the  library 
for  reasons  that  need  not  be  given  here,  and  it 
was  to  this  room  that  I  betook  myself  after  I 
had  recovered  from  Caroline's  cruel  exit.  I  re 
alized,  in  a  vague  kind  of  way,  that  the  library 
was  not  my  wife's  customary  haunt  after  break 
fast,  but  I  lacked  the  courage  to  seek  a  clue  to  her 
usual  morning  habits.  That  Suzanne  would  dis 
cover  me  presently  in  my  hiding-place,  I  had  no 
doubt,  but  I  was  safe  from  intrusion  for  a  time, 
at  least,  and  might  find  in  solitude  a  poultice  for 
the  blows  that  this  deplorable  day — always  to  be 
remembered  as  Black  Wednesday — had  already 
given  to  me. 

56 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

As  I  seated  myself  beside  a  table  covered  with 
books  and  magazines,  a  feeling  of  rebellion,  not 
unmingled  with  envy,  came  over  me.  It  was  a 
clear,  bracing,  sunny  morning,  and  Caroline,  in 
my  outward  seeming,  was  rolling  down-town,  re 
joicing,  doubtless,  like  a  bird  that  has  escaped  un 
expectedly  from  a  narrow  cage.  A  new  life  lay 
before  her.  She  had  gone  forth  to  see  the  world, 
while  I,  beautiful  but  despondent,  sat  trembling, 
in  momentary  dread  of  discovery  by  Jones  or  Su 
zanne.  Menaced  by  a  ball-dress,  a  music  teacher, 
Mrs.  Taunton  and  various  unknown  household 
duties,  my  mind  exaggerated  the  miseries  of 
my  situation.  Unworthy  passions  agitated  my 
throbbing  bosom.  A  longing  for  vengeance,  a 
mad  desire  to  make  Caroline  regret  her  base  de 
sertion  of  the  man  whom  she  had  vowed  to  love, 
honor  and  obey,  swept  through  me.  It  would 
go  hard  with  me,  indeed,  if  some  opportunity  for 
punishing  my  errant  spouse  did  not  present  itself 
during  the  long  day  that  confronted  me. 

With  great  presence  of  mind,  despite  my  agi- 
57 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

tation,  I  had  brought  Caroline's  mail  into  the 
library  with  me.  Should  I  open  it?  Why  not? 
She  had  carried  off  my  letters  with  a  piratical 
nonchalance  quite  consistent  with  her  present 
high-handed  methods  of  procedure.  It  was  only 
fair  that  I  should  dip  into  her  correspondence  at 
my  leisure.  But  I  feared,  just  now,  any  further 
shock  to  my  nerves,  and  sat  motionless,  gazing 
listlessly  at  the  little  pile  of  notes  addressed  to 
Caroline.  Suddenly,  a  thought  came  into  my 
mind  that  sent  the  blood  rushing  through  my 
veins.  Was  it  not  more  than  probable  that  my 
library  contained  a  few  volumes  dealing  with  the 
occult  sciences?  At  all  events,  I  was  sure  that 
I  owned  several  books  relating  to  Oriental  philo 
sophy.  Then  there  was  Sir  Edwin  Arnold's 
"  Light  of  Asia  "  at  my  disposal,  and,  if  I  became 
impatient  of  research,  I  could  look  up  "  Reincar 
nation,"  "  Transmigration  "  and  kindred  topics 
in  the  encyclopaedia. 

But  what  had  become  of  my  courage?     Great 
as  was  my  curiosity  regarding  the  strange  psychi- 

58 


When  Keginald  Was  Caroline. 

cal  displacement  that  had  made  me  practically  a 
prisoner  in  my  own  home,  I  feared  to  take  steps 
that,  while  they  might  increase  my  erudition, 
might  also  deprive  me  of  all  hope  of  the  night's 
readjustment. 

"  I'd  better  leave  it  alone,"  I  murmured  to  my 
self,  despondently.  "  My  very  ignorance  of  this 
kind  of  thing  may  prove  to  be  my  salvation  in 
the  end.  I'm  up  against  it,  there's  no  doubt  of 
that.  And  the  queer  thing  about  it  all  is  that 
I'm  not  more  astonished  at  what  has  happened. 
It  didn't  hurt  a  bit !  It  was  like  taking  gas.  You 
wake  up  in  a  dentist's  chair,  and  the  only  tooth 
you  knew  you  possessed  has  gone.  I  wonder,  by 
the  way,  if  it  would  pay  to  consult  a  doctor — 
some  specialist  in  nervous  disorders  ?  I  could  use 
an  assumed  name,  and —  Bosh !  I  haven't  the 
sand  to  do  it.  And  it  might  lead  to  an  investi 
gation  as  to  my  sanity.  Great  guns,  girl!  You 
here  again  ? "  The  last  words  I  spoke  aloud, 
gazing  upward  into  Suzanne's  pale,  disturbed 
face. 

59 


Perkins  the  Fakeer. 

"  I  am  so  worried  about  madame,"  said  Su 
zanne  in  French,  glancing  nervously  around  the 
library,  as  if  she  sought  in  my  environment  an  ex 
planation  of  her  mistress's  eccentricity.  "  Would 
it  not  be  well  for  madame  to  come  up-stairs  and 
try  to  get  a  nap?  " 

"  A  nap !  "  I  cried,  in  a  vibrant  treble.  "  Not 
on  your  life,  girl!  I'm  up  for  all  day,  you  may 
bet  on  that.  Get  me  the  morning  papers,  Su 
zanne.  And — wait !  Where's  Jenkins  ?  " 

Suzanne  gazed  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  He's  eating  his  breakfast,  madame." 

"  Bring  me  the  papers,  and  then  tell  Jenkins 
to  take  a  day  off.  Tell  him  he  may  go  as  far 
away  as  Hoboken  if  he  wants  to.  He  needn't 
return  until  to-morrow." 

Suzanne  glided  from  my  side  with  a  quick, 
silent  movement  that  reminded  me  of  a  black  cat. 

A  wild,  fleeting  hope  seized  me  that  Jenkins 
would  carry  the  girl  away  with  him,  but  presently 
Suzanne  entered  the  library  again. 

"  Jenkins  sends  his  thanks  to  madame,  and  will 
60 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

take  a  holiday,  after  reporting  to  monsieur  at 
his  office,"  said  my  pretty  gadfly,  glibly,  placing 
the  morning  newspapers  beside  me. 

"  Confound  his  impudence!  "  I  exclaimed,  and 
I  saw  at  once  that  Suzanne  considered  me  "  no 
better." 

"  And  now,  girl,  what  next  ?  Jones,  I  sup 
pose." 

"  Yes,  madame.  He  is  awaiting  your  pleas 
ure  outside  the  door." 

At  that  moment  Jones  entered  the  library. 

"  You  called  me,  madame,"  he  said,  pompously, 
magnificent  as  a  liar.  "  Your  orders,  madame?  " 

"  We  have  guests  for  dinner,  Jones,"  I  re 
marked,  bravely. 

"  Yes,  madame.    How  many?  " 

"  Four,  Jones.  Six  at  the  table,  that  is.  Cock 
tails  to  start  with,  Jones,  and  serve  my  best  wines 
— freely,  do  you  understand?  I  want  you  to 
give  us  a  dinner  to-night,  Jones,  that'll — make  a 
new  man  of  me,"  I  murmured  under  my  breath. 

"  Yes,  madame,"  said  the  butler,  respectfully, 
61 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

but  I  certainly  caught  a  gleam  of  delight  in  his 
heavy  eyes.  "  You  give  me  carte  blanche,  ma- 
dame?" 

"  Throw  everything  wide  open,  and  let  'er  go, 
Jones,"  I  cried,  with  enthusiasm.  Caroline 
should  see  that  I  know  how  "  to  provide." 

Jones  bowed,  more,  I  believe,  to  conceal  his 
astonishment  than  for  mere  ceremony,  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  Jones,"  I  called,  before  he  had  disappeared, 
"  if  you  talk  to  Jenkins  before  he  leaves  the  house 
I  shall  discharge  you." 

The  butler  turned,  with  a  flush  in  his  face,  and 
gave  me  a  haughty  stare.  Then  he  said,  recover 
ing  his  machine-made  humility : 

"  Yes,  madame.  Your  orders  shall  be  obeyed." 
With  that  he  was  gone. 

"  Go  to  the  'phone  Suzanne,"  I  said  at  once, 
"and  call  up  502,  Rector.  When  you've  got 
'em,  let  me  know." 

Suzanne  was  too  nervous  to  accomplish  this 
task,  and  I  was  forced  to  go  to  her  assistance. 

62 


I 

When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  Hello !  "  I  heard  Caroline's  voice  crying  pres 
ently,  and  it  warned  me  to  be  careful. 

Standing  at  a  'phone  it  was  hard  for  me  to  re 
member  that  I  was  far  from  being  quite  myself. 

"Who's  this?"  came  to  my  ears  from  502, 
Rector. 

"  Has — ah — Mr.  Stevens  reached  the  office 
yet?"  I  asked. 

"  We  expect  him  every  moment.  He's  late 
this  morning,"  came  the  answer  in  a  man's  voice, 
(I  had  grown  very  sensitive  to  sex  in  voices.) 
"Who  is  this?" 

"  I  am — ah — Mrs.  Stevens."  Suddenly,  I  re 
alized  that  I  was  talking  to  Morse,  my  head- 
clerk.  How  he  happened  to  be  in  my  inner  office 
puzzled  me.  "  Anything  new  this  morning, 
Morse?"  I  inquired,  impulsively.  There  was  a 
sound  that  can  be  described  as  an  electric  gurgle 
at  his  end  of  the  line. 

"  Hello,"  he  cried,  above  a  buzzing  of  the  wires 
that  might  have  been  caused  by  his  astonishment. 
"  Are  you  still  there,  Mrs.  Stevens  ?  " 
63 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Well,  rather,"  I  said  to  myself.  Then  aloud : 
"  Will  you  kindly  call  me  up — ah — Mr.  Morse, 
the  moment  Mr.  Stevens  arrives  ?  " 

"  On  the  instant,  Mrs.  Stevens,"  said  Morse, 
deferentially. 

Curiosity  overcame  my  discretion. 

"How  did  the  market  open,  Mr.  Morse?"  I 
asked,  recklessly. 

Again  that  electric  gurgle  escaped  from  my 
startled  clerk. 

"  It  seems  to  be  very  feverish,  madame,"  an 
swered  Morse,  evidently  recovering  his  equanim 
ity. 

"  Naturally !  "  I  exclaimed,  feelingly,  but  I 
doubt  that  Morse  caught  the  word. 

"Is  that  all,  M'-s.  Stevens?"  he  asked,  pres 
ently. 

"  That'll  do  for  the  present — ah — Mr.  Morse," 
I  said, reluctantly.  "  Good-bye!  " 

I  returned  to  my  seat  beside  the  reading-table 
and  found  Suzanne  gazing  at  me  with  soft,  sym 
pathetic  eyes. 

64 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  If  I  had  but  dared  to  tell  him  to  unload,"  I 
mused  aloud,  but  went  no  further,  for  the  French 
girl's  glance  had  become  an  interrogation- 
mark. 

"  Tell  monsieur  to  unload  ?  "  murmured  Su 
zanne,  who  sometimes  spoke  English  when  she 
especially  craved  my  confidence.  "  But — mon 
Dicu! — monsieur  is  not — what  you  say,  madame, 
loaded?" 

I  broke  into  a  silvery,  high-pitched  laugh  that 
annoyed  me,  exceedingly.  But  it  was  not  un 
pleasant  to  realize  that  the  girl  knew  that  Mr. 
Stevens  was  a  gentleman.  I  felt  grateful  to  Su 
zanne  for  her  good  opinion.  A  moment  later,  the 
telephone  rang,  sharply. 

"There's  Caroline,"  I  said  to  myself;  but  I 
was  quickly  undeceived  when  I  had  placed  the  re 
ceiver  to  my  ear. 

"  Is  that  you,  Caroline?  "  I  heard  a  voice  say 
ing.     "  This  is  Louise.     What  have  you  decided 
to  do  about  those  lectures  on  Buddhism?     Will 
you  join  the  class,  my  dear?  " 
5  65 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Not  in  a  thousand  years !  "  I  fairly  shrieked 
through  the  'phone.  "  Good-bye !  " 

"More  trouble,  madame?"  asked  Suzanne,  as 
I  tottered  back  to  my  chair.  "  I  am  so  sorry. 
Really,  I  think  madame  should  come  up-stairs 
with  me  and  lie  down.  I  will  bathe  madame's 
head,  and  she  may  drop  off  for  a  time." 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said,  solemnly,  making  a  strong 
effort  of  will  and  controlling  my  temper  nicely — 
"  Suzanne,  if  you  suggest  a  sleep  to  me  again  to 
day  I  shall  be  forced  to  send  you  to  Hoboken  to 
find  Jenkins.  What's  that?  The  telephone 
again  ?  Ah — Mr.  Stevens  must  have  reached  his 
office." 

I  was  right  this  time.  If  my  memory  is  not 
at  fault,  our  conversation  across  the  wire  ran  as 
follows. 

"Hello!" 

"Hello!" 

Silence  for  a  time  and  a  buzzing  in  my  ear. 

"  Is  that  you,  Caroline?  "  from  my  office. 

"  You  know  best — ah — Reginald,"  in  the 
66 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

sweetest  tones  that  I  could  beget  in  my  wife's 
voice. 

"  Hello ! " 

"Hello!"  I  returned.  "Pleasant  ride  down 
—ah— Reginald  ?  " 

"Do  be  serious,  will  you?"  gruffly,  from  the 
office. 

"  Tell  Morse  to  sell  L  stock  and  industrials  at 
once.  Do  you  get  that  ?  " 

"I'll  have  to  use  my  own  judgment  in  that 
matter,  Caroline."  My  voice  came  to  me  through 
the  'phone  with  its  own  stubborn  note. 

"Great  Scott!"  I  cried,  realizing  that  I  was 
absolutely  helpless.  "  Be  careful  what  you  do — 
ah — Reginald.  It's  a  very  treacherous  market. 
For  heaven's  sake,  sell  out  at  once,  will  you?  " 

"  I  must  get  to  work  now,  my  dear,"  said  my 
wife,  gruffly.  "  There's  a  heavy  mail  this  morn 
ing,  and  several  men  are  waiting  to  see  me.  Mr. 
Rogers  comes  in  to  me  at  once." 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  me,  and  Caroline's 
voice  trembled  as  I  cried : 

67 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Don't  see  Rogers — ah — Reginald !  I  haven't 
decided  yet  what  answer  to  give  the  man.  Bluff 
him  off,  if  you've  got  a  spark  of  sense  left  in  you. 
Tell  him  to  call  at  the  office  next  week." 

"  Good-bye,  Caroline,"  came  my  voice  to  me, 
remorselessly.  "  I'll  call  you  up  again  later. 
How's  your  ball  dress?  Does  it  fit  you  nicely? 
Don't  over-exert  yourself,  my  dear.  You  weren't 
looking  well  at  breakfast.  Ta-ta !  See  you  later." 

I  heard  the  uncompromising  click  of  the  re 
ceiver,  and  knew  that  my  wife  had  returned  to  my 
affairs.  As  I  turned  my  back  to  the  telephone,  I 
felt  that  ruin  was  staring  me  in  the  face.  If 
Caroline  played  ducks  and  drakes  with  my  va 
rious  stocks  I  stood  to  lose  half  my  fortune. 
What  a  fool  I  had  been,  engaged  in  a  profitable 
business,  to  go  into  speculation !  Had  it  not  been 
for  what  may  be  considered  a  feeling  of  false 
pride  I  should  have  sent  Suzanne  for  a  cocktail 
at  once.  It  seemed  to  me  that  my  masculine  in 
dividuality  exhausted  Caroline's  nervous  energy 
at  a  most  deplorable  rate. 
68 


CHAPTER  V. 
SUZANNE'S  BUSY  DAY. 

Births  have  brought  us  richness  and  variety,  and  other 
births  have  brought  us  richness  and  variety. —  Walt  Whit 
man. 

BUTTONS,  the  hall-boy  was  accustomed  to  sit 
where  he  could  keep  one  ear  on  the  'phone  in  the 
library,  the  other  on  the  bell  in  the  main  entrance, 
and  both  of  them  on  the  voice  of  Jones,  the  butler. 
The  library  stifled  me,  and  the  very  sight  of  the 
telephone  threatened  me  with  nervous  prostra 
tion. 

"  Tell  Buttons,"  I  said  to  Suzanne,  "  to  listen 
to  the  'phone,  and  if — ah — Mr.  Stevens  calls  me 
up  again,  to  let  me  know  of  it  at  once.  Then 
come  to  me  up-stairs.  And,  Suzanne,  say 
to  Buttons  that  if — what  was  her  name? — ah, 
yes,  Louise — rings  me  up  again  to  tell  her  I've 
69 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

got  an  attack  of  neuralgia  in  my — ah — astral 
body,  and  that  I'm  writing  to  Buddha  to  ask  for 
his  advice  in  the  matter.  That'll  shut  her  off  for 
all  day,  I  imagine." 

;  "  Oui,  madame,"  murmured  Suzanne,  wearily. 
She  was  beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  a  great 
nervous  strain.  As  I  reached  the  door  of  the 
library,  the  effort  to  carry  myself  like  a  lady  over 
came  my  momentary  infusion  of  energy. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said,  "  it  might  be  well  for  you 
to  bring  some  cracked  ice  with  you.  Ask  Jones 
for  it.  Tell  him  I  have  a  headache,  if  he  glares 
at  you." 

As  I  mounted  the  stairs  slowly,  wondering  how 
women  manage  to  hold  their  skirts  so  that  their 
limbs  move  freely,  a  feeling  of  relief  came  over 
me.  It  was  pleasant  to  get  away  from  the  floor 
over  which  Jones,  the  phlegmatic  and  tyrannical, 
presided.  I  had  lost  all  fear  of  Suzanne,  but 
the  butler  chilled  my  blood.  If  Caroline  and  I 
failed  to  obtain  a  psychical  exchange  to-night 
Jones  must  leave  the  house  to-morrow.  Sud- 

70 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

denly,  I  stood  motionless  in  the  upper  hallway  and 
laughed  aloud,  nervously.  What  would  Jones 
think  could  he  learn  that  he  had  become  unwit 
tingly  a  horror  in  livery  to  a  lost  soul?  The  ab 
surdity  of  the  reflection  brought  a  ray  of  sun 
shine  to  my  darkened  spirit,  and  I  entered  Caro 
line's  morning-room  in  a  cheerful  mood. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Stevens,  but  I  was  told  to 
wait  for  you  here." 

A  pretty  girl  confronted  me,  standing  guard 
over  a  large  pasteboard  box  that  she  had  placed 
upon  a  chair. 

"  You — ah — have  something  for  me?  "  I  asked, 
coldly.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder  where  Caro 
line's  leisure  came  in. 

"  Your  new  ball-dress,  Mrs.  Stevens.  You 
promised  to  try  it  on  this  morning,  you  remem 
ber." 

"  Very  well !  Leave  it,  then.  I'll  get  into  it 
later  on.  I've  no  doubt  it'll  fit  me  like  a  glove." 

The  girl  stared  at  me  for  a  moment,  then  re 
covered  herself  and  said : 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Madame  Bonari  will  be  displeased  with  me, 
Mrs.  Stevens,  if  I  do  not  return  to  her  with  the 
report  that  you  find  the  dress  satisfactory.  I  may 
await  your  pleasure,  may  I  not?  Madame  Bon 
ari  would  discharge  me  if  I  went  back  to  her 
now." 

"  Let  me  see  the  dress,  girl,"  I  muttered,  re 
luctantly.  To  don  a  ball-dress  in  full  daylight 
to  save  a  poor  maiden  from  losing  her  situation 
was  for  me  to  make  a  greater  sacrifice  than  this 
dressmaker's  apprentice  could  realize. 

The  girl  opened  the  box,  and  I  gazed,  awe 
struck,  at  a  garment  that  filled  me  with  a  strange 
kind  of  terror.  There  was  not  a  great  deal  of  it. 
It  was  not  its  size  that  frightened  me;  it  was  the 
shape  of  the  thing  that  was  startling. 

"  That'll  do,  girl,"  I  exclaimed,  somewhat  hys 
terically.  "  Tell — ah — Madame  Bonari  that  this 
— ah — polonaise  is  a  howling  success.  I  can  see 
at  a  glance  that  it  was  made  for  me,"  and  added, 
under  my  breath,  "  to  pay  for." 

72 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

The  girl  stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  gazing  at  me 
in  mingled  sorrow  and  amazement. 

"  But  oh,  Mrs.  Stevens,"  she  cried,  the  tears 
coming  into  her  eyes,  "  you  will  not  dismiss  me 
this  way?  I  will  lose  my  place  if  you  do!  " 

I  sank  into  a  chair,  torn  by  conflicting  emo 
tions,  as  a  novelist  would  say  of  his  distraught 
heroine. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  climb  into  that  thing, 
here  and  now  ?  "  I  gasped. 

"  If  madame  will  be  so  kind,"  murmured  the 
girl,  imploringly. 

With  joy,  I  now  heard  the  tinkling  of  cracked 
ice  against  cut-glass.  Suzanne,  to  my  great  re 
lief,  entered  the  room. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said,  courageously,  "  I  will  trou 
ble  you  to  tog  me  out  in  this — ah — silk  remnant. 
Have  you  got  a  kodak,  girl?  "  I  asked,  playfully, 
turning  toward  the  astonished  young  dressmaker. 
"  You're  not  a  yellow  reporter?  " 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Stevens!"  cried  the  girl,  depreca- 
ingly,  glancing  interrogatively  at  Suzanne.  Per- 

73 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

haps  the  cracked  ice  and  my  eccentric  manner  had 
aroused  suspicions  in  her  mind. 

A  moment  later,  I  found  myself  in  Caroline's 
dressing-room  alone  with  Suzanne,  who  had  re 
covered  her  spirits  in  the  delight  that  her  present 
task  engendered. 

"  Madame's  neck  and  arms  are  so  beautiful !  " 
she  murmured  in  French,  pulling  the  skirt  of  the 
ball-dress,  a  dainty  affair  made  of  mauve  silk, 
with  a  darker  shade  of  velvet  for  trimmings,  into 
position.  "  Ah,  such  a  wonderful  hang !  It  is 
worthy  of  Paris,  madame." 

"  Don't  stop  to  talk,  Suzanne,"  I  grumbled. 
"  This  is  indecent  exposure  of  mistaken  identity, 
and  I  can't  stand  much  of  it ;  so  keep  moving,  will 
you?" 

"The  corsage  is  a  marvel,  madame!"  ex 
claimed  Suzanne,  ecstatically. 

"  It  is,  girl,"  I  muttered,  glancing  at  myself  in 
a  mirror.  "  It  feels  like  a  cross  between  a  mod 
ern  life-preserver  and  a  mediaeval  breast-plate. 
74 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Don't  lace  the  thing  so  tight,  Suzanne.  I've  got 
to  talk  now  and  then !  " 

Suzanne  was  too  busy  to  listen  to  my  some 
what  delirious  comments. 

'  It  is  a  miracle !  "  she  cried  in  French.  "  Ma 
dame  is  a  purple  dream,  is  she  not  ?  " 

"  Madame  will  be  a  black-and-blue  what-is-it 
before  you  know  it,"  I  moaned.  "  Does  that 
girl  outside  there  expect  to  have  a  look  at — ah — 
this  ridiculous  costume?"  I  asked,  testily. 

"  Madame  is  so  strange  to-day,"  murmured 
Suzanne,  wearily.  "  You  are  free  to  go  now, 
madame." 

I  clutched  at  the  train  that  anchored  me  to  my 
place  of  torture,  and  moved  clumsily  toward  the 
room  in  which  the  young  dressmaker  awaited  me. 

"  Ah !  "  cried  the  girl,  as  I  broke  upon  her  vis 
ion,  a  creature  of  beauty,  but  very  far  from  grace 
ful.  "  Madame  Bonari  will  be  overjoyed.  The 
dress  is  perfection,  is  it  not,  Mrs.  Stevens?  I've 
never  seen  such  a  fit." 

"  It  feels  like  a  fit,"  I  remarked,  pantingly. 
75 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  called  out,  desperately,  "  slip  a  few 
cogs  in  front  here,  will  you?  This  is  only  a  re 
hearsal,  you  know.  If  I  must  suffocate  at  the 
ball  I'll  school  myself  for  the  occasion.  But  I 
refused  to  be  a  pressed  flower  this  morning. 
Thanks,  that's  better.  It's  like  a  quick  recovery 
from  pneumonia.  You  may  go,  girl.  Give  my 
compliments  to  Madame — ah — Bonari,  and  tell 
her  I'm  on  the  road  to  recovery.  Good  morn- 
ing!" 

Suzanne  and  I  were  alone. 

"  A  cocktail,  girl.  Quick,  now !  Do  you  think 
I  wanted  that  ice  as  a  musical  instrument?  If  I 
ever  needed  a  stimulant,  Suzanne,  I  need  one 
now.  Make  the  dose  stiff,  Suzanne,  for  I'm  not 
as  young  as  I  was.  Do  you  hear  me?  Hurry! " 

A  rap  at  the  door  checked  Suzanne  in  full  ca 
reer.  We  heard  the  strident  voice  of  Buttons  in 
the  hallway. 

"  Open  the  door,  Suzanne."  I  cried,  nervously, 
bracing  myself  for  another  buffet  from  fate. 

"  Mr.  Stevens  is  asking  for  Mrs.  Stevens  on  the 
76 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

'phone,"  I  heard  Buttons  say  to  Suzanne.     "He* 
seems  to  be  in  a  hurry,  too." 

Suzanne  hastened  back  to  me. 

"  I  know  the  worst,  girl !  Say  nothing !  "  I 
exclaimed,  petulantly.  "  I  must  go  down-stairs 
in  this  infernal  ball-dress,"  and  the  ordeal  before 
me  filled  me  with  consternation.  If  Jones 
should  find  me  skulking  around  his  domain  in  a 
decollete  dress  at  this  time  of  day  the  glance  of 
his  arrogant  eyes  would  terrify  me.  But  there 
wasn't  time  for  reflection,  nor,  alas!  for  a  cock 
tail.  Caroline  was  calling  vainly  to  me  with  my 
voice  through  an  unresponsive  telephone.  I  must 
go  to  her  at  once.  Doubtless,  she  craved  im 
mediate  advice  regarding  the  manipulation  of  my 
margins.  Why,  oh!  why,  had  I  jeopardized  my 
fortune  for  the  sake  of  quick  returns,  when  my 
legitimate  business  was  sufficient  for  my  needs? 

"  I  fly,  Suzanne !  "  I  cried,  as  I  stumbled  to 
ward  the  hall.  "  If  anybody  calls  to  ask  if  I'm 
engaged  for  the  next  dance,  tell  'em  my  card  is 
full."  Suzanne  smiled.  "  And  I  wish  I  was ! " 

77 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I  muttered  to  myself,  desperately,  as  I  looked 
down  the  staircase  and  wondered  if  it  would  be 
well  to  use  my  mauve  train  as  a  toboggan. 

How  I  managed  to  reach  the  telephone,  I  can 
not  say.  In  the  lower  hall,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Jones's  self-made  face,  and  just  saved  myself 
from  coming  a  cropper.  To  acquire  a  firm  seat  in 
a  ball-dress  requires  practice. 

."Hello!"  I  shouted,  desperately,  through  the 
'phone.  "  Is  that  you — ah — Reginald  ?  " 

"  Jenkins  is  here."  I  heard  my  voice,  saying 
at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  "  What'll  I  do  with 
him?" 

"  Send  him  to — ah — Hoboken,  will  you  ?  "  I 
returned,  in  a  shrill  falsetto.  "  But  you  have 
the  better  of  it,  my  dear.  He's  not  a  marker  to 
Jones.  What  have  you  done  with  the  special 
ties?" 

"  Buying!  buying!  buying!  "  cried  Caroline,  in 
a  triumphant  basso  that  froze  my  blood.     "  Rog 
ers  gave  me  an  inside  tip,  as  he  calls  it.     It  was 
awfully  nice  of  him,  wasn't  it  ?  " 
78 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  Damn  Rogers!  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Good-bye !  "  cried  Caroline,  with  righteous 
indignation,  and  my  attempt  to  call  her  back  was 
futile. 

My  heart  was  heavy  as  I  made  my  way,  slowly 
and  clumsily,  from  the  library.  Buttons,  as  bad 
luck  would  have  it,  had  just  opened  the  front 
door  to  a  black-eyed,  long-haired  little  man,  who 
carried  a  roll  of  music  under  his  arm.  As  I  hesi 
tated,  hoping  to  make  good  my  retreat  to  the 
library,  Professor  Von  Gratz — as  he  proved  to 
be — hurried  toward  me.  If  he  was  amazed  at  my 
costume,  he  managed  to  control  his  mobile  face 
and  musical  voice. 

"  Oh,  madame,  I  am  zo  glad  to  zee  you  are 
eager  for  de  lezzon !  "  he  exclaimed,  bowing  al 
most  down  to  his  knees.  "  Ve  vill  haf  grade 
muzic,  nicht  war?  You  vill  blay  de  vonderful 
Opuz  22 !  Beethoven,  de  giant  among  de  pyg 
mies,  vill  open  de  gates  of  baradize  to  us.  It  vill 
be  beautiful.  You  are  ready,  madame?  " 

My  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  a  conflict  of  emo- 
79 


Perkins  the  Fakeer. 

tions.  I  felt  an  almost  irresistible  longing  to 
throw  this  detestable  little  foreigner  out  of  the 
house.  The  sudden  realization  that  my  biceps, 
etc.,  were  at  my  office  cooled  my  ardor  for  action, 
and  I  said,  presently,  marveling  at  my  own  in 
genuity  : 

"  I  regret  to  say — ah — Professor,  that  my  doc 
tor  has  put  me  upon  a  very  slim  musical  diet.  He 
says  that — ah — Beethoven  is  ruining  my  nerves. 
But  if  you  want  to  sing  '  Danny  Deever,'  come 
into  the  music-room.  I  think  I  could  manage  to 
knock  out  the  accompaniment." 

Von  Gratz  stared  at  me  in  most  apparent  agi 
tation,  pulling  at  his  horrid  little  black  goatee 
with  his  left  hand. 

"  I  vill  pid  you  gute  morgen,  madame,"  he 
gasped,  bowing  again.  "  Ven  you  are  much 
petter  you  vill  zend  for  me,  -merit  war?  Gute 
morgen !  " 

The  gates  of  paradise  were  not  to  be  opened 
to  the  professor  this  morning.  On  the  contrary, 
Buttons,  to  my  great  relief,  shut  the  front  door 
80 


When  Reginald  was  Caroline. 

behind  the  hurrying  figure  of  the  master-pianist, 
whose  farewell  glance  of  mingled  astonishment 
and  anger  haunted  me  as  I  mounted  the  stairs. 
"  Suzanne !  "  I  gasped,  as  I  tottered  into  the 
room  in  which  the  girl  awaited  my  return.  "  Su 
zanne,  unbuckle  this  chain-armor,  will  you?  It's 
breaking  my  heart.  That's  better,  Suzanne. 
Oh,  yes,  I'm  going  to  a  ball,  all  right.  Or,  rather, 
you're  going  to  bring  me  one  at  once." 


81 


CHAPTER  VI. 

VERSES  AND   VIOLETS. 

Oh,  my  brothers  blooming  yonder,  unto  Him  the  ancient 
pray 

That  the  hour  of  my  transplanting  He  will  not  for  long  de 
lay. 

— From  the  Persian. 

RELIEVED  of  Caroline's  new  ball-dress  and  hav 
ing  swallowed  a  cocktail,  I  was  horrified  to  find 
a  feeling  of  almost  irresistible  drowsiness  steal 
ing  over  me. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  cried,  "  it  is  imperative  that  you 
keep  me  awake — even  if  is  becomes  necessary 
for  you  to  do  the  skirt-dance  to  drive  sleep  from 
my  eyelids.  Not  that  I  approved  of  these  Orien 
tal  vagaries.  Far  from  it,  Suzanne.  Though  I 
may  at  present  come  under  that  head  myself — 
but  n'importe!  You  might  assert,  plausibly 
enough,  that  all  this  is  Occidental.  In  a  certain 
sense,  I  suppose  that  it  is.  But — Great  Scott !  " 

82 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline . 

I  sank  back  in  an  easy-chair,  startled  by  my 
own  flippancy.  The  uncanny,  inexplicable  change 
that  had  made  me  what  I  was  must  not  be  re 
vealed  to  Suzanne !  Was  it  not  enough  that  I  had 
already  driven  my  maid  to  the  very  verge  of  hys 
teria  ?  And  here  I  sat,  talking  recklessly  to  keep 
awake,  and  wearing  my  secret  on  my  sleeve. 
Should  Suzanne  learn  the  truth  from  my  pun 
ning  tongue,  her  mind  might  become  unhinged. 
In  that  case,  another  sudden  transposition  of 
identities  might  take  place!  Frightful  possibil 
ity  !  I  must  not  yield  to  the  inclination  creeping 
over  me  to  indulge  in  a  short  nap.  Perhaps 
Caroline's  mail  would  revive  me! 

And  just  here  I  found  myself  confronted  by  a 
difficult  problem  in  ethics.  Despite  the  fact  that 
my  wife,  with  a  heartless  disregard  of  my  wishes 
in  the  matter,  had  seized  my  letters,  captured  my 
business  office,  and  assumed  the  full  possession 
of  all  my  business  affairs,  great  and  small,  I  could 
not  forget  that  I  still  remained  a  gentleman. 
That  Caroline  had  taken  advantage  of  a  psychi- 
83 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

cal  mischance  to  lay  bare  my  inner  life  before 
her  prying  gaze  could  not  excuse  my  surrender 
to  a  not  unfounded  but,  perhaps,  unwholesome 
:  curiosity. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said  presently,  and  the  girl  stole 
softly  to  my  side.  "  You  spoke  of  a  letter  that 
you  had  received  for  me.  It  is — ah — from — ah  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madame,"  answered  Suzanne,  eagerly, 
but  somewhat  irrelevantly.  "  Here  it  is,  madame. 
It  is  from  him,  I  feel  sure." 

I  gazed  at  the  envelope  with  Caroline's  brilliant 
eyes,  but  I  was  not  thankful  for  my  temporary 
perfection  of  face  and  form.  It  came  to  me 
grimly  that  beauty  may  be  a  nuisance,  or  even  a 
curse.  I  lacked  the  courage  to  open  this  note — 
an  unconventional,  perhaps  lawless,  tribute  to  my 
my  wife's  powers  of  fascination.  There  was  an 
air  of  Spanish  or  Italian  intrigue  about  the  whole 
affair  that  shocked  me.  My  imagination,  which 
had  developed  wonderfully  since  early  morning, 
likened  myself  and  Suzanne  to  Juliet  and  her 
nurse. 

84 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  O,  Romeo,  Romeo !  wherefore  art  thou, 
Romeo?"  I  exclaimed,  somewhat  wildly.  Su 
zanne  drew  back  from  me  nervously. 

"  Will  you  not  read  the  note,  madame  ?  " 

"  Anon,  good  nurse !  But  if  thou  mean'st  not 
well,  I  do  beseech  thee — " 

"  Man  Dieu!"  gasped  Suzanne,  gazing  at  me, 
awe-struck.  But  I  was  pitiless. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said,  firmly,  glancing  at  the  note 
in  my  hand,  the  chirography  upon  which  seemed 
to  be  familiar,  "  Suzanne,  I  am  very  beautiful, 
am  I  not?" 

"  Oui,  madame,"  assented  Suzanne,  enthusias 
tically. 

"  And  I  love  my  husband  dearly,  do  I  not?  " 

"  Devotedly,  madame." 

"  Then,  surely,  Suzanne,  I  should  not  receive 
this  epistle.  What  did  I  do  with  his — ah — for 
mer  notes?  " 

I  had  made  a  most  egregious  blunder.  An  ex 
pression  of  amazement  came  into  the  French 
maid's  mobile  face. 

85 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  But,  madame,  this  is  the  first  one,  is  it  not  ? 
I  know  of  no  others,  madame." 

There  was  a  gleam  of  suspicion  in  the  girl's 
eyes.  It  was  evident  that,  for  a  moment,  she 
suspected  my  dear  Caroline  of  a  lack  of  straight 
forwardness.  Impulsively  I  tore  Romeo's  note 
into  a  dozen  fragments. 

"  There,  Suzanne,"  I  cried,  in  a  triumphant 
treble,  "  my  alibi  is  perfect.  Who  wrote  this 
note  I  do  not  know.  What  he  had  to  say  I  do 
not  care.  If  you  can  get  word  to  him,  girl,  tell 
him  that  if  he  comes  prowling  around  my  bal 
cony  again  I'll  have  — ah — Reginald  pull  his  nose 
for  him.  A  bas  Romeo !  " 

"  But,  madame,"  murmured  Suzanne,  evi 
dently  pained  by  my  flippant  fickleness  and  fickle 
flippancy,  "  monsieur,  the  writer  of  the  note,  dines 
here  to-night,  you  know." 

"The  deuce  he  does,  girl!"  I  cried,  impulsively, 

making  as  if  to  pull  my  beard,  and  bruising  my 

spirit  against  new  conditions.     "  Who  are  our 

guests?     Edgerton   and   his   wife.     It   can't   be 

86 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Edgerton.  He's  not  a  blooming  id  jit.  Van 
Tromp?  Dear  little  Van  Tromp!  It  must  be 
Van  Tromp.  Oh,  Van  Tromp,  Van  Tromp, 
wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo?  Van  Tromp's  the 
man,  eh,  Suzanne?  " 

Caroline's  maid  was  red  and  tearful. 

"  Madame  is  so  strange  this  morning,"  she 
complained.  "  It  was  Mr.  Van  Tromp's  man 
who  brought  the  note,  madame." 

My  soul  waxed  gay  in  Caroline's  bosom.  I 
warbled  a  snatch  of  song  from  Gounod's 
"  Faust." 

"  Suzanne,"  I  cried,  "  gather  up  the  fragments 
of  Romeo's  billet-doux.  Possibly  his  note  is  not 
what  I  supposed  it  was.  I'll  read  what  the  dear 
little  boy  has  to  say.  Thank  you,  Suzanne.  I 
think  I  can  put  these  pieces  together  in  a  way  to 
extract  the  full  flavor  of  Van  Romeo's  sweet 
message.  What  saith  the  youth  ?  Ha !  I 
have  it. 

87 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  '  MY  DEAR  MRS.  STEVENS  :  Is  it  presumption 
upon  my  part  to  believe  that  you  meant  what  you 

* 

said  to  me  at  the  Cromptons'  dance?  At  all 
events,  I  have  had  the  audacity  to  cherish  your 
words  in  my  heart  of  hearts.  I  am  sending  you 
a  few  violets  to-day.  If  you  do  me  the  honor  of 
wearing  them  at  dinner  to-night,  I  shall  know 
that  there  was  a  basis  of  earnestness  underneath 
the  words  that  were  as  honey  to  my  soul.' 

"  Listen  to  that,  Suzanne,"  I  cried,  hysterically. 
"  Is  it  not  worthy  of  a  young  poet?  I  wonder 
what  the  dev — what  Caro — ah — I  said  to  this — 
ah — Romeo?  Here's  richness,  Suzanne!  I'll 
wear  his  flowers — with  a  string  to  'em,  eh? 
We'll  have  a  merry  dinner,  Suzanne!  I  told 
Jones  to  throw  everything  wide  open.  I'll  in 
clude  young  Van  Tromp  in  the  order.  He  shall 
be  my  special  care,  Suzanne.  Van  Tromp's 
mine  oyster !  What  think  you,  Suzanne  ?  Should 
I  not  quaff  a  toast  to  the  success  of  my  little 
game  ?  " 

"  Madame,  I  do  not  understand,"  murmured 
88 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

the  girl,  in  French.  "  Madame  is  feverish.  Let 
me  bathe  madame's  head,  and  she  may  get  a  quiet 
ing  nap.  If  you  could  lose  yourself  only  for  an 
instant,  madame !  " 

"  Great  Jupiter,  Suzanne,  will  you  get  that 
idea  out  of  your  head?  I  don't  want  to  lose 
myself.  On  the  contrary — but — n'importe,  as  we 
say  when  we're  feverish.  You'll  find  some  cigar 
ettes  in  the  bedroom,  girl.  Bring  'em  to  me  at 
once.  Don't  stare  at  me  that  way!  If  I  don't 
smoke  I'll  drink  another  cocktail,  and  then  what'll 
happen  ?  " 

Suzanne  shuddered  and  hurried  away.  Pres 
ently  I  was  blowing  smoke  into  the  air,  much  to 
my  own  satisfaction  and  to  Suzanne's  ill-dis 
guised  amazement. 

'  Tobacco  is  quieting,  Suzanne ;  soothing, 
cheerful.  It  stimulates  hope  and  calms  the  per 
turbed  soul.  Damn  it!  what's  that?  Some 
body's  knocking,  Suzanne.  See  who  it  is.  If 
it's  anyone  for  me,  tell  them  that  I  won't  draw 
cards  this  morning,  but  may  take  a  hand  later  on. 
89 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Don't  stand  staring  at  me,  girl!  Put  a  stop  to 
that  rapping  at  once." 

"  Mon  Dieu!  "  groaned  Suzanne,  as  she  crossed 
the  room.  How  much  longer  she  could  stand  the 
strain  of  my  eccentricities  was  becoming  proble 
matical.  Presently  she  returned  to  me,  carrying 
a  box  of  flowers. 

"  Romeo's  violets,"  I  murmured,  rapturously. 
"  Tell  me,  nurse,  did  Juliet  mean  what  she  said 
to  Romeo?  Well,  rather!  I'll  wear  thy  flowers, 
little  boy!  What's  this?  Another  note,  smoth 
ered  in  violets.  Listen,  Suzanne!  Romeo  has 
dropped  into  poetry.  Listen : 

"  '  Go,  purple  blossoms,  the  glory  of  Spring, 
Gladden  her  eyes  with  thy  velvety  hue  ; 

What  are  the  words  of  the  song  that  I  sing  ? 
They  came  to  my  heart  as  the  dew  came  to  you. 

"  '  My  love  is  a  flower,  my  song  is  its  scent ; 

Let  it  speak  to  her  soul  in  the  violet's  breath  ! 
And  my  spirit  with  thee,  by  a  miracle  blent, 

Shall  drink  deep  of  life,  of  love  unto  death.' 

"  Take  these  away,  Suzanne !  Take  them 
away!"  I  cried,  in  a  panic.  ''Haven't  I  had 
enough  of  this  theosophical,  transmigration  idiocy 

90 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

for  one  day  ?  Take  them  away !  '  By  a  miracle 
blent ! '  Confound  the  boy !  if  I  got  into  that 
little  Van  Tromp's  body  through  these  infer 
nal  flowers  I  could  never  hold  up  my  head  again. 
What's  that,  Suzanne?  Yes,  keep  them  fresh. 
Give  them  water.  But  do-n't  let  me  get  near  them 
again  until  I've  got  my  courage  back.  Perhaps 
I'll  dare  to  wear  them  to-night.  I  can't  say  yet." 

I  needed  rest.  Reclining  in  my  chair,  I  idly 
watched  Suzanne  as  she  moved  restlessly  about 
the  room  trying  to  quiet  her  excitement  by  action. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  cried,  softening  toward  the  maid, 
"  don't  look  so  sad.  All  will  come  right  in  the 
end.  Brace  up,  girl.  '  While  there's  life  there's 
hope.'  " 

"  Do  I  look  sad,  madame  ?  I  am  very  sorry. 
I  will  try  to  be  more  cheerful,  for  madame's  sake. 
But  if  madame  could  put  herself  into  my  place 
for  a  moment — " 

"  There  you  go  again,  Suzanne,"  I  exclaimed, 
testily.  "  We'll  change  the  subject,  girl.  W'hat 
next?" 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  I  think  it  might  be  well  for  madame  to  dress 
for  luncheon,"  suggested  Suzanne,  nervously.  It 
was  evident  that  she  had  begun  to  lose  confidence 
in  my  intervals  of  calm. 

"  Let  me  think,  Suzanne.  Somebody  lunches 
with  me.  Who  is  it?  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Taunton. 
And  now  I  think  of  it,  Suzanne,  Mrs.  Taunton  is 
little  Van  Tromp's  sister.  That's  the  reason  I 
never  liked  her,  I  suppose." 

"  But  madame  and  Mrs.  Taunton  seem  to  be 
such  good  friends,"  remarked  Suzanne,  in  French, 
moving  about  in  a  way  that  filled  me  with  fore 
boding.  It  was  evident  that  she  contemplated 
changing  my  costume  at  once. 

"  Appearances  are  often  deceptive,  Suzanne," 
I  remarked,  feelingly,  lighting  a  fresh  cigarette, 
somewhat  clumsily.  "  What  are  you  up  to  now, 
girl?" 

"  Madame  must  look  her  best  at  luncheon,"  re 
marked  Suzanne,  professionally.  "  Mrs.  Taun 
ton  has  such  exquisite  taste." 

I  was  not  pleased  at  Suzanne's  remark.  Mrs. 
92 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Taunton,  an  avowed  admirer  of  Caroline,  had 
never  disguised  the  fact  that  she  considered  me 
a  nonentity.  But  fate  had  vouchsafed  to  me  a 
great  opportunity  for  proving  to  Mrs.  Taunton 
that  I  was  not  altogether  insignificant.  Dis 
guised  in  Caroline's  outward  seeming  I  might 
readily  avenge  myself  for  Mrs.  Taunton's  per 
sistent  indifference  to  my  good  points.  Little 
Van  Tromp  had  placed  a  double-edged  weapon 
in  my  hand. 

"  Suzanne,"  I  said,  gazing  grimly  at  the  dress 
that  she  had  laid  out  for  me,  "  before  you  go 
further  with  my  toilet,  I  wish  you  would  make 
a  copy  of  these  verses  for  me.  You  write  Eng 
lish,  do  you  not  ?  " 

Suzanne  glanced  at  me,  inquisitively. 

"  Madame  knows  well  that  I  do,"  she  re 
marked,  mournfully.  But  the  trembling  of  her 
slender  hand  as  she  grasped  Van  Tromp' s  screed 
to  do  my  bidding  augured  ill  for  the  copy  that 
she  would  make  of  his  verses. 


93 


CHAPTER  VII. 

IRRITATION  AND  CONSOLATION. 

Waste  not  your  hour,  nor  in  the  vain  pursuit 
Of  this  and  that  endeavor  and  dispute  ; 

Better  be  merry  with  the  fruitful  grape 
Than  sadden  after  none,  or  bitter  fruit. 

— Omar  Khayydm. 

I  MUST  get  on  more  rapidly  with  my  narrative. 
It  has  been  a  great  temptation  to  me  to  indulge 
in  conjectures  and  surmises  regarding  the  soul- 
displacement  that  may  make  my  story  a  present 
ment  worthy  of  attentive  consideration  from  the 
Society  for  Psychical  Research.  But  from  the 
outset  I  have  endeavored  to  resist  this  inclination 
and  to  give  to  the  reader  merely  a  bald  state 
ment  of  facts  in  their  actual  sequence.  It  must 
be  apparent  by  this  time,  furthermore,  that  I  am 
not  fitted  by  education  to  discuss  the  uncanny 

94 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

problems  begotten  by  the  strange  affliction  that 
had  befallen  niy  wife  and  myself.  That  I  have 
become  perforce  a  sadder  and  wiser  man  may  be 
true,  but,  despite  my  practical  experience  of  what 
may  be  called  instability  of  soul,  I  am  not  in  any 
sense  a  psychologist.  From  various  points  of 
view ;  therefore,  it  seems  best  that  I  should  eschew 
all  philosophical  or  scientific  comments  on  the 
curious  phenomena  with  which  I  have  been  forced 
to  deal,  leaving,  as  it  were,  the  circumference  of 
my  story  to  the  care  of  the  erudite,  and  confining 
my  own  endeavors  strictly  to  its  diameter. 

Behold  me,  then,  fresh  from  Suzanne's  deft 
hands,  confronting  Caroline's  bosom  friend,  Mrs. 
Taunton,  across  the  luncheon-table.  Our  conver 
sation,  if  my  memory  is  not  at  fault,  ran  some 
thing  as  follows: 

"  You  look  flushed  and  excited,  Caroline,"  said 
Mrs  Taunton,  a  large,  blond,  absurdly  haughty 
woman,  strangely  unlike  little  Van  Tromp,  her 
poetical  brother.  "  Something  has  happened  to 
upset  you,  my  dear?  " 

95 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Well,  rather!  "  I  could  not  refrain  from  ex 
claiming.  What  the  deuce  was  Mrs.  Taunton's 
given  name  ?  If  I  did  not  recall  it  soon  she  would 
begin  to  wonder  at  Caroline's  peculiar  bearing. 
It  was  not  Mrs.  Taunton,  however,  who  was  driv 
ing  me  toward  hysteria,  To  find  myself  again 
in  the  realm  over  which  the  phlegmatic  but  ter 
rifying  Jones  presided  was  to  lose  confidence  in 
my  ability  to  stem  the  tide  of  disaster.  Jones  was 
so  conservative !  Such  a  radical  change  as  I  had 
undergone  would  be  even  more  incomprehensible 
to  him  than  it  had  been  to  me.  I  realized  vaguely 
that  I  had  grown  to  be  supersensitive,  and  that 
what  I  took  to  be  suspicion  in  the  butler's  eyes 
must  be  a  product  of  my  own  overwrought 
nerves.  But,  struggle  as  I  might  against  the  im 
pression,  I  could  not  free  myself  from  the  feel 
ing  that  Jones  watched  me  furtively,  question- 
ingly,  as  if  he  had  gained  possession  of  a  clue  to  a 
great  mystery. 

"  Tell  me  all  about  it,  Caroline,"  urged  Mrs. 
Taunton,  sweetly.  "  If  you  were  not  so  beauti- 
96 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

ful,  my  dear,  you  would  not  have  so  much  trou 
ble." 

The  blood  rushed  into  Caroline's  cheeks,  and 
I  found  myself  glaring  angrily  at  Jones,  who  was 
serving  croquettes  to  Mrs.  Taunton.  The  latter 
had  displayed  the  most  wretched  taste  in  prais 
ing  my,  or  rather  Caroline's,  appearance  before  the 
butler.  But  Mrs.  Taunton  evidently  looked  upon 
a  servant  as  a  mere  automaton,  not  to  be  con 
sidered  even  in  heart-to-heart  talks  with  young 
women.  My  growing  annoyance  made  itself 
manifest  in  Caroline's  voice,  as  I  stammered : 

"  My — ah — beauty,  such  as  it  is,  don't  you 
know,  is  only — ah — skin  deep.  But  my  troubles 
— ah —  Jones!  Don't  be  so  slow!  Spend  as 
much  time  outside  as  you  can,  will  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Taunton  stared  at  me  in  amazement, 
while  Jones,  showing  no  signs  of  emotion,  made  a 
most  dignified  exit. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Caroline?" 
asked  my  vis-a-vis,  anxiously.     "  I  never  heard 
you  speak  like  that  before." 
7  97 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

An  explanation  seemed  to  be  due  to  my 
guest. 

"  It's  curious,  don't  you  know,"  I  began,  lame 
ly,  trying  to  recall  Mrs.  Taunton's  baptismal 
name,  "  it's  curious — ah — my  dear,  what  an  in 
tense  repulsion  I  feel  toward  that  man  Jones. 
It  came  upon  me  suddenly.  It's  intermittent,  not 
chronic,  I  think,  but  it's  all  there,  and  means 
business.  Did  you  ever  feel  that  way  ?  " 

"Caroline!"  gasped  Mrs.  Taunton,  pained 
surprise  resting  upon  her  patrician  face. 

"It's  beneath  me,  I  acknowledge,"  I  went  on, 
feverishly,  making  an  effort  to  eat  a  croquette 
between  sentences.  "  A  butler's  merely  a  neces 
sary  piece  of  movable  furniture,  and  should — ah 
— not  arouse  a  feeling  of  antagonism.  But  Jones 
has  got  an  eye  to — ah — induce  intoxication." 

"Caroline,"  queried  Mrs.  Taunton,  solemnly, 
"  have  you — forgive  me,  my  dear,  for  the  ques 
tion — have  you  been  taking  anything?  " 

"  A  fair  exchange  is  no  robbery,"  I  remarked, 
impulsively,  in  my  own  defense,  but  Mrs.  Taun- 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

ton's  face  assured  me  that  I  had  spoken  irrele 
vantly. 

"  I  should  advise  a  cup  of  black  coffee,  Caro 
line,"  said  my  guest,  in  her  iciest  tone. 

"  We'll  wait  a  bit,  if  you  don't  mind,"  I  ven 
tured  to  suggest.  "  No  coffee  without  Jones. 
I'm  not  quite  up  to  Jones  at  this  moment — er — 
my  dear." 

Mrs.  Taunton  held  my  gaze  to  hers,  and  her 
light-gray  eyes  chilled  me.  It  was  evident  that 
little  Van  Tromp's  sister  had  no  poetical  nonsense 
in  her  make-up.  Practical,  obstinate,  strong- 
willed  she  seemed  to  be,  as  she  endeavored  to 
solve  from  Caroline's  beautiful  eyes  the  mystery 
of  my  eccentric  demeanor. 

"  Your  sudden  and  inexplicable  aversion  to 
your  butler,  Caroline,"  remarked  my  guest,  pres 
ently,  apparently  desirous  of  soothing  my  nerves 
by  a  poultice  of  gossip,  "  reminds  me  of  the  lec 
ture  upon  Buddhism  that  I  heard  yesterday  rriorn- 
ing.  An  adept  from  India — Yamama,  I  think, 
is  his  name — talked  to  us,  you  know,  about  our 
99 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Western  blindness,  as  he  called  it,  to  the  marvels 
of  soul-sensitiveness." 

My  fork  rattled  against  my  plate,  and  I  gazed 
down  in  dismay  at  Caroline's  trembling  hand. 
Mrs.  Taunton  overlooked  my  agitation  and  con 
tinued  : 

"  He  was  so  entertaining !  But  it's  all  absurd, 
of  course.  Louise  told  me  that  you  were  going 
with  her  to  hear  him  this  morning." 

"Yes?"  I  managed  to  gasp.  "She — ah — 
Louise  called  me  up  by  the  'phone.  I  couldn't 
get  away,  you  see — ah — my  dear." 

"  It's  such  utter  nonsense,  don't  you  know," 
went  on  Mrs.  Taunton,  evidently  convinced  that 
the  worst  was  over  with  me.  "  I  made  notes, 
just  for  practice.  He — the  adept,  or  whatever 
he  was — was  a  lovely  piece  of  mahogany,  with 
perfectly  stunning  eyes.  I  memorized  one  of  my 
notes.  The  dear  little  brownie  said — just  listen 
to  fhis,  Caroline:  'The  Hindu  conception  of  re 
incarnation  embraces  all  existence — gods,  men, 
animals,  plants,  minerals.  It  is  believed  that 
100 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

everything  migrates,  from  Buddha  down  to  inert 
matter.  Buddha  himself  was  born  an  ascetic 
eighty-three  times,  a  monarch  fifty-eight  times, 
the  soul  of  a  tree  forty-three  times,  and  many 
other  times  as  an  ape,  deer,  lion,  snipe,  chicken, 
eagle,  serpent,  pig,  frog — four  hundred  times  in 
all ! '  Isn't  it  all  perfectly  silly  ?  Good  gracious, 
Caroline,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you 
faint?" 

"  Just  a  bit  rocky,"  I  found  sufficient  nerve  to 
say.  "  Are  you  quite  sure — ah — my  dear — that 
he  said  pigs — and — and — frogs?  " 

Mrs.  Taunton  caught  her  breath,  as  if  she 
struggled  to  swallow  her  amazement. 

"  You  ought  to  be  in  bed,  Caroline,"  she  said, 
severely.  "  If  you  could  get  to  sleep,  my 
clear—" 

"  Et  hi,  Brut  el "  I  murmured,  with  sardonic 
playfulness.  "  Look  here — ah — my  dear !  You 
find  a  change  in  your  Caroline,  eh?  You  have 
suspected  me  of  drinking,  and  now  you  imply 
that  I  need  sleep.  I  swear  that  the  next  person 

JOI 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

who  hints  that  I'm  not  up  for  all  day  shall  hear 
something  to — ah — her  disadvantage." 

Such  talk  was  madness.  Mrs.  Taunton  very 
naturally  resented  my  childish  ultimatum.  She 
arose  from  her  chair  with  a  cool,  calm  dignity 
that  shocked  me  like  a  cold  shower-bath. 

"  I  regret,  Caroline,  that  I  find  my  patience 
exhausted,"  she  remarked,  more  in  sadness  than 
in  wrath,  transfixing  me  with  her  pale-gray  eyes. 
"  I  shall  leave  you  now,  but  not  in  anger.  I  can 
see,  plainly  enough,  that  you  are  not  yourself." 

"  Don't  you  dare  to  say  that  in  public — ah — 
Mrs.  Taunton,"  I  cried,  hotly,  fearful  that,  as 
it  was,  Jones  might  have  overheard  her  remark. 
Reason  assured  me  that  her  words  were  used 
figuratively,  but  the  undeniable  fact  that  she  had 
hit  the  target  and  rung  the  bell  drove  me  to  des 
peration.  Mrs.  Taunton  gazed  at  me  for  a  mo 
ment  in  mingled  scorn  and  astonishment,  and  then 
swept  from  the  dining-room  with  head  high  in 
air  and  a  rustle  of  skirts  that  seemed  to  sweep 
Caroline  into  outer  darkness. 

102 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

The  next  thing  that  I  remember,  as  the  flam 
boyant  romancers  remark,  was  an  entrance  even 
more  theatrical  than  Mrs.  Taunton's  exit.  Jones, 
impressing  my  errant  fancy  as  Nemesis  in  the 
semblance  of  an  imported  butler,  strode  into  the 
room  bearing  a  tray  upon  which  rested  a  coffee 
pot,  the  aroma  from  which  stirred  hope  in  my 
heart.  Much  as  I  detested  Jones,  I  welcomed  the 
stimulant  that  he  carried  toward  me.  If  Mrs. 

Taunton's  disappearance\surprised  him,  he  suc- 

^^ 
ceeded  in  suppressing  any  ohtovard  exhibition  of 

emotion. 

Realizing  for  the  moment  that  my  fear  of  the 
man  was  unreasonable,  I  summoned  common 
sense  to  my  aid  and  said: 

"  One  good  bracer  deserves  another,  Jones. 
Put  a  stick  into  my  coffee,  will  you?" 

The  butler  gave  me  a  furtive  glance,  a  cross 
between  an  exclamation  and  an  interroga 
tion. 

"  Brandy,  madam  ?  "  he  asked,  smoothly. 

When  he  had  fortified  my  coffee  with  a  dash 
103 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

of  fine  old  French  cognac,  I  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye. 

"  Jones,"  I  said,  impressively,  "  Mr.  Stevens 
has  complained  of  you  of  late.  But  I  don't  want 
you  to  lose  your  place.  I  shall  see  to  it  that 
my — ah — husband  becomes  reconciled  to  you,  but 
you  must  obey  my  instructions  to  the  letter.  To 
begin  with,  you  are  to  leave  this  room  at  once, 
close  the  door,  stand  on  guard  outside  and  allow 
no  one  to  disturb  me  until  I  give  you  word.  If 
you  open  the  door  before  I  call  to  you,  you  leave 
the  house  immediately.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  madam,"  gasped  Jones,  thrown  out  of 
his  orbit  for  once.  But  he  retained  sufficient  self- 
control  to  make  a  hurried  exit,  noisily  shutting 
the  door  behind  him. 

I  swallowed  my  coffee — and  cognac — at  a  gulp, 
and  stumbled  toward  the  sideboard.  After  a 
short  search  I  came  upon  a  box  of  excellent 
cigars.  Presently  I  was  seated  at  the  luncheon- 
table  again,  sipping  a  pony  of  brandy  neat  and 
blowing  cigar-smoke  into  the  air.  For  a  glorious 
104 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

half-hour,  I  reflected  joyously,  I  could  enjoy  my 
self  in  my  own  way.  Glancing  over  my  shoulder, 
I  caught  sight  of  my  reflection  in  the  sideboard 
mirror.  Caroline,  with  a  long,  black  panatella 
between  her  beautiful  lips,  held  a  pony  of  brandy 
poised  in  the  air,  with  the  other  hand  raised  to 
remove  the  cigar  from  her  mouth.  An  inex 
plicable  wave  of  diabolical  exultation  swept  over 
me.  Bowing  to  my  wife's  handsome  image — 
which  cordially  returned  the  salutation — I  re 
moved  my  cigar  and  raised  the  brandy  to  Caro 
line's  mouth. 

"  Here's  how,  my  dear!  "  I  cried,  gaily.  "  No 
heel-taps ! " 

Caroline's  reflection  drank  the  toast,  and  the 
warm  glow  of  good-fellowship  that  crept  through 
my  veins  reconciled  me  for  the  time  being  to  my 
strange,  uncanny  fate. 


105 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

NEWS  FROM  CAROLINE. 

Young  and  enterprising  is  the  West, 
Old  and  meditative  is  the  East. 

Turn,  O  youth  !  with  intellectual  zest 
Where  the  sage  invites  thee  to  his  feast. 

— Milnes. 

ON  the  whole,  I  enjoyed  my  cigar.  The  waters 
of  affliction  had  rolled  over  me  and  I  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  peaceful  comfort  for  a  full  half- 
hour.  Under  like  conditions,  many  good  fellows 
of  my  set  would  have  toyed  too  freely  with  the 
cognac.  But  I  was  cautious  and  conservative  as 
regards  the  liquor.  I  glanced  at  Caroline's  face, 
which  wore  a  humorous  smile  as  it  gazed  at  me 
from  the  mirror. 

"  Spirits,"  I  cried,  facetiously,  winking  at  Car 
oline's  reflection,  and  receiving  a  winking  re 
sponse,  "  spirits  are  to  be  handled  with  care,  my 
1 06 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

dear.  There's  no  telling  what  they  may  do  to 
us." 

At  first  I  derived  considerable  amusement  from 
the  grotesque  effects  that  I  could  obtain  from  the 
juxtaposition  of  my  cigar  and  Caroline's  deli 
cate  face.  If  it  was  a  kind  of  sacrilege  to  sit 
there  and  watch  the  smoke  issuing  from  my  wife's 
dainty  lips,  I  comforted  my  better  self  with  the 
thought  that  I  was  in  no  way  to  blame  for  exist 
ing  conditions.  If  the  sideboard's  mirror  at  that 
moment  framed  a  picture  that  might  have  been 
taken  from  the  Police  Gazette,  was  I  not  power 
less  to  alter  the  decrees  of  fate?  I  had  come  into 
my  wife's  butterfly-beauty  without  first  slough 
ing  off  my  gross  chrysalis-habits. 

I  playfully  shook  my  fist  at  the  accusatory  mir 
ror. 

"  It's  no  reflection  on  me,"  I  murmured,  jo 
cosely.  A  sickly  kind  of  smile  flitted  across  Car 
oline's  face,  driving  me  to  a  stimulant  again.  I 
poured  out  a  pony  of  brandy. 

"  To  drink  or  not  to  drink — that  is  the  ques- 
107 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

tion,"  I  soliloquized;  observing  with  satisfaction 
that  Shakespeare  tended  to  remove  the  expression 
of  untimely  hilarity  in  my  wife's  countenance. 
"  O  Romeo,  wherefore  art  thou,  Romeo?  " 

A  joyful  gleam  came  into  Caroline's  eyes  as 
I  thought  of  Van  Tromp.  I  swallowed  the  cog 
nac  and  presently  saw  a  flush  creep  into  my  wife's 
cheeks.  The  sight  angered  me. 

"  If  two  or  three  fingers  of  old  brandy  show 
themselves  at  once  in  this — ah — borrowed  face  of 
mine,"  I  reflected,"!  might  as  well  take  the  pledge 
at  once.  Caroline,"  I  continued,  addressing  my 
remarks  to  the  mirror,  "  I  am  ashamed  of  you. 
If  you  don't  quit  this  kind  of  thing,  you'll  lose 
your  complexion — and  what'll  poor  robin  do 
then?  I  am  ashamed  of  you,  Caroline.  I  really 
didn't  think  that  you'd  go  so  far." 

It  suddenly  came  to  me  that  I  was  talking  in 
a  most  idiotic  way,  and  I  turned  Caroline's  left 
shoulder  to  the  mirror.  Resisting  the  temptation 
to  follow  the  changing  expressions  of  her  face, 
I  watched  the  smoke  from  my  cigar  as  it  floated 
1 08 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

across  the  luncheon-table  or  mounted  toward  the 
ceiling.  At  the  outset,  I  derived  a  good  deal 
of  satisfaction  from  the  change  of  attitude.  My 
thoughts  assumed  a  healthier  tendency.  The 
morbid,  half-crazy  inclinations  that  my  mind  had 
begun  to  display  passed  away  and  something  like 
contentment  with  the  present  and  hope  for  the 
future  came  gently  to  me.  Even  the  question 
that  would  force  itself  upon  me  -now  and  again 
as  to  what  Caroline  might  be  doing  or  undoing 
at  my  office  failed  to  destroy  wholly  the  pleasura 
ble  calm  begotten  of  solitude,  cognac  and  tobacco. 
I  even  found  myself  contemplating  Caroline's 
white,  tapering  fingers,  outstretched  to  flip  the 
ashes  from  my  panatella,  with  a  satisfaction  that 
was  a  strange  compound  of  pride  and  jealousy. 
I  could  not  refrain  from  an  unworthy  sense  of 
delight  at  the  thought  that  Caroline  was  being 
punished  for  her  brazen  defiance  of  my  wishes 
every  time  she  glanced  at  my  hands. 

But  I  had  become    a    creature    of    changing 
moods,  a  prey  to  errant  fancies.     As  I  realized 
109 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

that  my  cigar — shrinking  reminder  of  happier 
days — was  nearly  smoked  out,  and  that  my  term 
of  comparative  freedom  drew  toward  its  end,  the 
fever  of  impotent  rebellion  burned  in  my  veins — 
if  they  were  mine.  To  a  practical,  energetic  in 
dividual,  accustomed  to  having  his  own  way  in 
small  matters  and  great,  the  recurrent  conviction 
that  he  has  become  the  plaything  of  mischief-lov 
ing  powers  concerning  which  he  knows  little  or 
nothing  is  not  conducive  to  long  intervals  of  re 
pose.  I  was  growing  restless  again,  eager  for 
action,  but  afraid  to  indulge  in  it;  craving  news 
of  Caroline,  but  lacking  courage  to  obtain  it. 

Suddenly  a  startling  thought  flashed  upon  my 
darkened  mind,  illuminating,  convincing,  expla 
natory.  Caroline  and  her  friends  had  been  dip 
ping  into  Oriental  philosophy.  Was  it  not  more 
than  probable  that  my  wife  had  deliberately 
planned  a  soul-transposition  that  had  ensured  her 
freedom  and  made  me  a  captive? 

The  longer  I  contemplated  this  supposition,  the 
stronger  grew  my  belief  that  Caroline  had  at- 
no 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

tempted  a  psychical  experiment,  the  success  of 
which  accounted  for  her  haughty,  domineering 
manner  after  breakfast.  It  was  clear  enough, 
now,  as  I  looked  back  upon  the  episodes  that  I 
have  been  recording.  My  wife's  horror  at  the 
discovery  of  our  soul-transposition  had  been 
merely  a  clever  bit  of  acting.  Her  seizure  of 
my  mail  and  insistence  upon  a  visit  to  my  office 
had  been  parts  of  a  well-laid  plan.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  she  had  become  an  adept  in  the  theory 
and  practice  of  transmigration,  and  had  sacrificed 
me  beneath  the  Juggernaut  of  her  eccentric  am 
bition.  If  she  found  the  life  of  a  business  man 
attractive,  I  was  at  her  mercy,  doomed  to  skirts 
and  corsets  until  she  wearied  of  my  career. 
Futhermore,  it  was  not  unreasonable  to  suppose 
that,  while  Caroline  had  acquired  sufficient  dia 
bolical  power  to  transpose  our  identities,  she  had 
not  gained  enough  occult  wisdom  to  restore  our 
souls  to  their  respective  bodies.  If  that  should 
prove  to  be  the  case,  if  she  was  only  half-edu 
cated  as  a  psychical  switch-tender,  the  future  for 
in 


'Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

me  became  dark  indeed.  I  could  see  before  me 
a  long  stretch  of  weary,  hopeless  years,  down 
which  I  tottered  toward  a  welcome  grave,  solaced 
only  now  and  then  by  the  creature-comforts  that 
I  loved,  the  while  Caroline  made  merry  with  my 
affairs.  Beset  day  after  day  by  Suzanne,  Mrs. 
Taunton  and  other  women  in  various  stages  of 
imbecility,  I  should  be  driven  to  desperation  at 
last  and  bring  disgrace,  in  some  form  or  other, 
upon  a  proud  name. 

And  how  cleverly  Caroline  had  played  her  little 
game !  Had  I  not  often  complained  loudly  of  the 
annoyances  appertaining  to  a  business  man's  life? 
Could  not  Caroline  silence  my  accusing  tongue 
with  the  assertion  that  she  had  presented  me  with 
a  life  of  luxurious  leisure,  to  take  up  burdens 
and  responsibilities  under  which  I  had  always 
grumbled  ?  Had  I  not  often  protested  against  the 
new  woman's  efforts  to  better  her  condition,  on 
the  ground  that  woman  had  long  enjoyed  more 
special  privileges  than  fell  to  the  lot  of  man?  I 
was  forced  to  acknowledge  that,  even  if  Caroline 

112 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

was  responsible  for  our  psychical  interchange,  I 
could  not  remain  consistent  and  utter  any  very 
emphatic  complaint.  She  would  fall  back  upon 
my  own  propositions  and  prove  conclusively, 
quoting  my  remarks,  that,  whatever  may  be  the 
case  with  his  soul,  it  may  profit  a  man  to  lose 
his  own  body. 

A  hot  wave  of  impotent  anger  swept  through 
me,  and  I  turned  in  a  rage  toward  the  mirror. 
The  expression  that  my  rebellious  soul  had  thrust 
into  Caroline's  face  destroyed  the  last  vestige  of 
my  self-control.  Seizing  a  carafe  from  the  table, 
I  hurled  it  at  the  sideboard,  and  my  wife's  face 
disappeared  in  a  chaos  of  broken  looking- 
glass. 

Horrified  at  my  recklessness,  I  hurried  toward 
the  door  as  rapidly  as  my  skirts  would  permit. 
In  the  hall  stood  Jones,  motionless,  phlegmatic, 
gazing  at  me  with  a  calmness  that  had  in  it  some 
thing  of  superiority. 

"  Go  in  there — ah — butler,  and  make  yourself 
useful,"  I  cried,  angrily,  as  I  brushed  past  him 
8  113 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

to  seek  the  library.     "  Don't  be  so  damned  statu 
esque  ! " 

A  few  moments  later,  I  had  hooked  Caroline 
at  the  end  of  a  telephone  wire. 

"  When  are  you  coming  up-town — ah — my 
dear?"  I  managed  to  gasp,  with  some  show  of 
diplomacy. 

"  Is  that  you,  Caroline?  "  asked  my  wife,  with 
my  voice,  which  I  was  foolishly  glad  to  hear 
again.  "  I've  got  good  news  for  you.  I'm  twenty 
thousand  ahead  on  the  day — and  every  transac 
tion  is  cleaned  out." 

"  Great  Scott !  "  I  exclaimed,  forgetting  my 
suspicions  and  rage  in  the  amazement  that  her 
words  had  caused. 

"  I'll  stop  at  the  club  on  the  way  up,"  went 
on  Caroline,  in  a  deep  basso  that  vibrated  with 
a  note  of  intense  self-satisfaction.  "  Have  you 
had  a  pleasant  day?  How's  Mrs.  Taunton?  By 
the  way,  my  dear,  Edgerton  was  here  a  few  mo 
ments  ago.  Mrs.  Edgerton  has  a  treat  in  store 
for  us  to-night." 

114 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

A  chill  of  apprehension  swept  over  me. 

"  What  do  you  mean — ah — Reginald?  "  I  fal 
tered. 

"  She  went  to  the  lecture  this  morning,  Caro 
line,"  explained  my  wife,  glibly.  "  She  is  aw 
fully  clever,  don't  you  think?  She  made  him 
promise  to  look  in  on  us  at  nine  to-night." 

"Him?      Who's   him?"    I    cried,    cold    with 
dread. 
"  Yamama,"  answered  my  voice,  exultantly. 

"  Good  God,  Caroline ! "  I  yelled  through  the 
'phone,  but  my  wife  had  cut  me  off. 

Stumbling  into  a  chair,  I  rested  Caroline's 
aching  head  upon  her  moist,  trembling  hand. 

"  Yamama !  "  I  murmured,  terror-stricken. 
"  He's  the  chocolate-colored  adept  that  Mrs. 
Taunton  referred  to.  Pigs!  Frogs!  He's  the 
scoundrel  that  put  Caroline  up  to  this.  He  is 
coming  here  to  look  at  me !  Damn  him !  " 

Excess  of  emotion  had  undone  me.  I  felt  the 
hot  tears  scorching  Caroline's  cold  hand. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AFTERNOON   CALLERS. 

Still  in  dreams  it  comes  upon  me  that  I  once  on  wings  did 

soar  ; 
But  or  e'er  my  flight  commences  this  my  dream  must  all  be 

o'er. 

— From  the  Persian. 

As  I  look  back  upon  it  now,  that  afternoon 
wears  the  aspect  of  a  variegated  nightmare,  from 
which  I  could  not  awaken. 

"What  will  madame  wear  this  afternoon?" 
Suzanne  had  asked  me  when  I  had  returned  to  my 
apartments  above-stairs. 

I  kicked  viciously  at  the  empty  air  with  one 
of  Caroline's  dainty  feet.  The  time  had  come,  evi 
dently,  for  Suzanne  to  change  my  costume  again. 
Should  I  take  a  ride  or  a  walk,  or  remain  at 
home?  If  I  went  out  for  a  ride,  I  should  have 
116 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

only  my  own  bitter  thoughts  for  company.  If 
I  took  a  stroll  up  the  Avenue,  almost  anything 
unpleasant  might  happen  to  me.  If  I  stayed  in 
the  house,  I  must  receive  callers.  No  one  of  these 
alternatives  was  alluring,  but  I  was  forced  to 
choose  the  latter.  For  a  number  of  rather  vague 
reasons,  I  did  not  dare  to  cut  off  my  line  of  com 
munication  with  Caroline.  She  had  become,  as 
it  were,  a  flying  column  not  yet  out  of  touch  with 
headquarters. 

"  And  she  ought  to  be  shot  for  disobedience  to 
orders,"  I  mused,  aloud. 

"Pardon  me,  madame?"  exclaimed  Suzanne, 
interrogatively. 

"  N'importc,  girl,"  I  answered,  testily.  "  I 
shall  remain  at  home,  Suzanne.  Give  orders 
down-stairs  that  I  have  a  headache  and  can  re 
ceive  no  one." 

"  But  Madame  is  looking  so  much  better !  " 
protested  Suzanne.  "  And  the  debutantes  will  call 
to-day.  It  is  madame's  afternoon." 

"  Well,  do  your  worst,  then,"  I  grumbled,  dis- 
117 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

contentedly.  "  Can  you  get  me  some  cloves,  Su 
zanne?" 

An  hour  later,  I  entered  the  drawing-room  after 
a  perilous  descent  from  the  second  story,  to  con 
front  three  young  women,  who,  I  had  gathered 
from  Suzanne,  held  Caroline  in  high  esteem  as  a 
chaperon.  I  had  committed  their  names  to  mem 
ory  before  leaving  the  dressing-room,  but  the 
effort  to  get  down-stairs  without  spraining  my 
wife's  ankles  had  obliterated  from  my  mind  all 
traces  of  its  recent  acquisition.  I  stood,  flushing 
painfully,  gazing  into  the  smiling  faces  of  three 
handsome,  modish  girls  who  were  wholly  stran 
gers  to  their  vicarious  hostess. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Stevens,  what  a  charming  day !  " 

"  How  lovely  you  are  looking !  " 

"  Wasn't  the  Crompton  dance  perfectly  stun 
ning?" 

"  Mr.  Van  Tromp  made  such  a  pretty  epigram 
about  your  costume !  " 

"Just  a  moment — ah — girls,"  I  gasped,  seat 
ing  myself  awkwardly,  and  inclined  to  lose  my 
118 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

temper.  "  There's  a  painful  lack  of  method  about 
all  this.  Suppose  we  begin  at  the  beginning. 
You  were  saying — ah — my  dear — ?  "  I  remarked 
to  the  calmest  of  the  trio.  The  latter  exchanged 
puzzled  glances  with  her  companions. 

"  I  was  speaking  of  the  compliment  that  Mr. 
Van  Tromp  paid  to  you,"  explained  the  maiden, 
rather  dolefully. 

"  He's  a  bad  lot,  that  young  Van  Tromp,"  I 
exclaimed,  impulsively.  "  Perhaps  I  ought  not 
to  talk  against  another  man — ah — behind  her — 
I  mean  his — back,  but  Van  Romeo's  too  easy, 
girls.  He  writes  poetry.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  makes  puns.  Charming — ah — day,  isn't  it  ?  " 

My  beautiful  callers  had  lost  their  vivacity. 
One  of  them — a  pretty  little  brunette — had  grown 
pale. 

"  What  about  the  coaching-party,  Mrs.  Stev 
ens?  "  the  one  I  took  to  be  the  eldest  of  the  three 
ventured  to  ask,  presently. 

"  It's  all  arranged — ah — my  dear,"  I  answered, 
recklessly.  "  We're  to  have  a  dozen  cases  of 
119 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

champagne  and  a  brass  band  of  ten  pieces.  I'm 
up  for  all  day,  you  see.  If  little  Van  Tromp 
praised  my  executive  ability — ah — girls,  he'd 
have  a  career  open  to  him.  Merrily  we'll  bowl 
along,  bowl  along —  I'm  to  handle  the  reins, 
you  know." 

There  were  now  three  pallid  maidens  confront 
ing  me.  In  the  eyes  of  the  eldest  I  saw  a  gleam 
of  mingled  suspicion  and  fear. 

"  I  must  be  going,"  she  gasped. 

"  Don't  go,"  I  implored  her,  overacting  my 
hospitable  role  a  bit.  There  flashed  through  my 
mind  a  scene  from  a  Gilbert-Sullivan  opera — 
"  The  Mikado  " — and  I  caught  myself  humming 
the  air  of  "  Three  Little  Girls  from  School  Are 
We." 

Jones,  to  my  consternation,  stalked  into  the 
drawing-room,  as  if  about  to  reprove  me  for  my 
lack  of  dignity. 

"Pardon  me,  madame,"  said  my  bete  noir, pom 
pously,  "  but  Mr.  Stevens  insists  upon  your  com 
ing  to  the  telephone." 

1 20 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

My  callers  were  on  their  feet,  instantly.  They 
appeared  to  be  glad  of  an  excuse  for  leaving  me, 
and,  also,  somewhat  astonished  at  the  butler's 
choice  of  words. 

"  Don't  let  us  keep  you  a  moment,"  cried  the 
eldest. 

"  Remember  me  to-  Mr.  Stevens,"  urged  the 
little  brunette,  mischievously. 

"  Good-bye!  We  are  so  grateful  to  you,  Mrs. 
Stevens,"  exclaimed  the  third,  with  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"  Be  good!  "  I  answered,  gaily.  "  Come  again 
— ah — young  ladies.  Don't  mind  Jones.  You'll 
get  used  to  him.  Look  in  next  month,  won't 
you?  Ta-ta!" 

I  stumbled  over  my  skirts  as  I  stepped  forward, 
and  the  little  flock  of  debutantes  hurried  away  in 
affright,  glancing  over  their  shoulders  at  me  in  a 
manner  that  suggested  gossip  to  come. 

"  Hello!  "  I  shouted  through  the  'phone,  when 
I  had  managed  to  reach  the  library.     "  Is  that 
you — ah — Reginald  ?    Where  are  you  ?  " 
121 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Yes.  This  is  Reginald,"  I  heard  my  voice  in 
answer.  "  I'm  at  the  'Varsity  Club.  Charming 
place.  Nice  boys  here.  You  seem  to  be  popular, 
my  dear.  '  Here's  to  you,  good  as  you  are,  and 
here's  to  me,  bad  as  I  am;  but  as  good  as  you 
are,  and  as  bad  as  I  am,  I'm  as  good  as  you  are, 
bad  as  I  am!'" 

"  Good  Lord— ah— ah— Reginald !  "  I  faltered, 
horror-stricken. 

"  Don't  worry,  Caroline,"  came  my  voice, 
soothingly.  "  It's  all  right.  I  know  when  to 
stop.  Had  any  callers?  This  is  your  day  at 
home,  is  it  not?  " 

"  I'll  send  the  coupe  for  you  at  once — ah — 
Reginald,"  I  said,  with  great  presence  of  mind. 
"  Go  easy  till  it  arrives,  will  you  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  imply,  Caroline  ? " 
growled  my  wife,  a  note  of  anger  in  my  voice. 
"  I'm  going  to  walk  home  by-and-bye.  You 
needn't  bother  about  the  coupe.  I  hear  the  boys 
calling  to  me.  Here's  to  you,  my  dear!  Good 
bye!" 

122 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Before  I  could  utter  another  word,  Caroline 
had  cut  me  off,  and  I  turned  from  the  'phone,  de 
spondently.  For  a  moment,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
the  library  was  surrounded  by  an  iron  grating 
and  that  I  wore  a  ball  and  chain  attached  to 
my  legs.  Caroline  and  "  the  Old  Crowd ! "  I 
am  forced  to  confess  that  the  hot  tears  came 
into  my  wife's  eyes  as  I  seated  myself  in  a  read 
ing-chair  and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  a 
loneliness  that  was  provocative  of  despair. 

Jones  was  hot  on  the  scent.  He  strode  into 
the  library  and  bore  down  upon  me  relentlessly, 
carrying  a  tray  upon  which  rested  two  calling- 
cards. 

"  They  are  in  the  drawing-room,  madame," 
said  the  butler,  indifferently. 

Caroline's  toast  came  ringing  to  my  ears. 
"  Here's  to  you,  good  as  you  are,  and  here's  to 
me,  bad  as  I  am ! "  And  here  I  sat,  bullied 
by  Jones  and  the  plaything  of  a  lot  of  light-headed 
women  of  all  ages.  For  one  wild,  feverish,  mo 
ment  the  thought  of  revolt  darted  through  my 
123 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

mind.  I  might  faint,  or  have  a  fit,  and  Jones 
would  be  forced  to  dismiss  my  callers.  But  I 
quickly  realized  that  I  was  not  up  to  a  brilliant 
histrionic  effort.  Even  as  it  was,  I  was  playing 
another's  role  with  but  indifferent  success. 

Two  elderly  women,  richly  garbed,  arose  as  I 
reentered  the  drawing-room. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you — ah — my  dears,"  I 
said,  in  a  voice  pitched  to  indicate  cordiality. 
One  of  my  callers  tossed  her  head  haughtily, 
while  the  prim  mouth  of  her  companion  fell  open. 
This  was  not  encouraging,  and  I  remained  silent. 
We  stared  at  each  other  for  a  long,  agonizing 
moment. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  I  began  again,  with  much 
less  assurance.  "  Go  away,  little  girls,"  kept  run 
ning  through  my  mind  from  that  diabolical,  tink 
ling  "  Mikado." 

"  We  are  very  well,  I  believe,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Martin,  as  she  proved  to  be,  coldly.  "  I  think 
I  may  answer  for  Mrs.  Smythe's  health." 

"  I  am  in  perfect  health,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
124 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Smythe,  with  emphasis,  staring  at  me  in  a  su 
perior  kind  of  way. 

"  There's  nothing  like  perfect  health — ah — my 
friends,"  I  said,  in  a  high,  almost  hysterical,  fal 
setto.  "  Who  is  it  who  says  that  a  man  is  as 
old  as  he  feels  and  a  woman  as  old  as  she  looks?  " 

"  Whoever  said  it,  Mrs.  Stevens,  did  us  a  great 
injustice,"  commented  Mrs.  Martin,  with  some 
warmth.  "  I  am  as  young  in  spirit  as  I  was  ten 
years  ago,  but  I  don't  look  it." 

"  No,  you  don't  look  it,"  I  hastened  to  remark, 
cordially ;  but  my  comment  was  not  well  received. 
Mrs.  Martin  glanced  at  Mrs.  Smythe,  and  they 
stood  erect  on  the  instant. 

'  You're  not  going — ah — my  dears?  "  I  cried, 
thinking  it  too  good  to  be  true. 

'  You  will  pardon  the  liberty  that  I  am  about 
to  take,  Mrs.  Stevens,"  began  Mrs.  Martin,  stern 
ly,  "  but  it  seems  only  fair  to  you  that  we  should 
ask  a  question  before  leaving  you.  You  are  out 
of  sorts  to-day?  Not  quite  yourself,  are  you?" 

"  Not  quite,"  I  answered,  drawing  myself  up 
125 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

to  Caroline's  full  height  and  struggling  against  an 
inclination  to  give  vent  to  wild,  feverish  laughter. 
"  I  may  say — Mrs. — ah — my  dear — that  I'm  not 
quite  myself.  Not  quite!  It'll  pass  off.  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  it'll  pass  off.  But  you're 
right.  I'm  not  quite  myself." 

My  frankness,  which  appalled  me  as  I  thought 
of  it  afterward,  seemed  to  have  a  soothing  effect 
upon  my  callers. 

"  You  really  do  too  much,  Mrs.  Stevens,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Smythe,  in  a  motherly  way.  "  You 
should  try  to  get  a  nap  at  once." 

"  Your  nerves  are  affected,"  Mrs.  Martin 
added,  speaking  gently.  "  You  are  overdoing 
things.  Did  you  ever  try  the  rest  cure  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I've  been  giving  it  a  chance  to-day," 
I  confessed.  "  But  it  doesn't  work.  I  can't  sleep 
in  the  daytime.  Bear  that  in  mind — ah — my 
dear.  Don't  talk  to  me  about  a  nap.  As  I  said 
to  Caroline — ah — Reginald,  I'm  up  for  all  day. 
But  you  know  what  nerves  are,  do  you  not  ?  " 

Mrs.  Martin  again  glanced  furtively  at  Mrs. 
126 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

Smythe,  and  without  more  ado  they  swept  out  of 
the  drawing-room. 

I  dropped  into  a  chair,  a  feeling  of  relief  min 
gled  with  self-disgust  sweeping  over  me.  I  real 
ized  that  I  had  been  making  a  sad  botch  of  the 
part  that  I  had  attempted  to  play.  At  that  mo 
ment,  heavy  footsteps  behind  me  aroused  me  from 
my  black-and-white  revery.  Two  large,  hot 
hands  were  placed  over  my  eyes,  and  the  end  of 
a  beard  tickled  Caroline's  forehead. 

"Guess  who  it  is?"  I  heard  my  deep  voice 
saying.  "  Here's  to  you,  good  as  you  are !  " 

"  Caroline !  "  I  exclaimed,  conflicting  emotions 
agitating  my  soul. 

"  Guess  again,  little  woman,"  said  my  wife, 
playfully,  in  my  voice.  "  They  call  me  '  Reggie  ' 
at  the  club." 


127 


CHAPTER  X. 

RECRIMINATIONS. 

We  know  these  things  are  so,  we  ask  not  why, 
But  act  and  follow  as  the  dream  goes  on. 

— Milnes. 

"  YES,  I've  had  a  simply  perfect  day,  ray  dear," 
remarked  Caroline,  frankly,  as  we  left  the  library 
to  ascend  to  our  second-story  suite.  "  I've  made 
twenty  thousand  dollars — by  not  taking  your  ad 
vice — and  as  to  the  '  Old  Crowd  '  at  the  'Varsity 
Club,  I  think  they're  really  charming.  I've  been 
doing  a  good  deal  of  miscellaneous  thinking,  my 
dear,  and  I'm  convinced  that  women  have  a  great 
future  before  them." 

"What  women?"   I  cried,   impatiently,   as   I 
tripped  against  the  top  stair  and  caught  my  bet 
ter  half  by  the  tail  of  my  coat. 
128 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  You'll  do  better  with  practice,"  remarked 
Caroline,  soothingly.  "  I'm  sure  you  enjoyed  the 
day.  Who  has  been  here  ?  " 

"  That'll  keep,"  I  answered,  resisting  an  incli 
nation  to  tweak  my  own  nose.  "  Where's  Jen 
kins?" 

Caroline  indulged  in  a  hoarse  chuckle. 

"  Jenkins  has  gone  to  Hoboken.  He  won't  be 
back  for  at  least  a  month.  I  think  I  can  get 
on  without  a  man.  How's  Suzanne?  " 

We  had  come  to  a  standstill  in  the  upper  hall, 
just  outside  of  the  main  door  to  our  private 
rooms. 

"  How'll  you  manage  to  dress  for  dinner  ?  "  I 
asked,  gazing  at  my  flushed,  triumphant  face  with 
sharply  contrasted  emotions.  I  was  glad  to  see 
it  again,  but  I  did  not  like  Caroline's  way  of 
using  it. 

"  I'm  very  quick  to  learn,"  answered  my  voice, 
tauntingly.     "  You   must  admit,   my  dear,   that 
I've  been  a  success  to-day.    You  don't  think  that 
I'm  to  be  overcome  by  a  man's  dinner  costume? 
9 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

A  chill  ran  through  me,  and  Caroline's  voice 
trembled  as  I  said: 

"  What  do  you — ah — think  I'd  better  wear  to 
night?  Suzanne'll  ask  me  presently." 

A  jovial  laugh  greeted  my  words.  The  hum 
orous  side  of  our  horrible  plight  seemed  to  be  al 
ways  apparent  to  Caroline. 

"  You  must  be  sure  to  do  me  credit,  my  dear 
boy,"  said  my  wife,  gruffly.  "  You've  glanced 
over  my  wardrobe,  have  you  not  ?  " 

The  hot  blood  came  into  my  adopted  cheeks  at 
the  suggestion. 

"  I — I've  been  too— ah — busy  to  look  into  the 
— ah — matter,"  I  faltered.  "  Damn  it,  Caroline, 
don't  be  so  confoundedly  superior!  I'm  crushed 
and  discouraged.  That's  straight.  Give  me  a 
word  of  advice,  will  you?  What  shall  I  wear 
to-night?  I  don't  want  to  make  a  fool  of  my 
self  before  Suzanne." 

"  Poor  Suzanne !  "  growled  Caroline,  some 
what  irrelevantly,  I  thought.  "  She  must  have 
had  a  day  of  it!  Tell  her  you'll  wear  the  dress 
130 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

I  wore  at  the  Leonards'  dinner-party  last  week. 
You  needn't  say  much  about  my  hair.  Suzanne'll 
know  what  to  do  with  it." 

Her  hand,  or  rather  mine,  was  on  the  knob  of 
the  door,  when  a  hideous  and  persistent  horror 
that  had  haunted  me  for  some  time  forced  me  to 
say,  in  Caroline's  most  insistent  treble : 

"  Why — oh,  why — did  you  allow  Edgerton  to 
ask  that  infernal  Yamama  to  come  here  to-night  ? 
It  was  madness,  Caroline." 

"  Call  me  Reginald,"  interposed  my  wife, 
coolly. 

"  It  was  madness,  I  say — ah — Reginald.  It  was 
that — or  worse." 

My  heart  beat  fast  in  Caroline's  bosom. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  my  wife,  thrust 
ing  my  face  forward,  and  transfixing  me  with  my 
own  eyes. 

"You've  enjoyed  the  day,  haven't  you?"  I 
asked,  my  temper  overcoming  my  prudence. 
"  Well,  I  haven't.  I've  been  driven  nearly  crazy 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

by  a  lot  of  fool  women,  while  you've  had  the 
time  of  your  life." 

"  I  don't  follow  you,"  remarked  my  wife, 
severely. 

"  That's  just  it,"  I  cried,  angrily.  "  You  lead 
me,  and  I'm  forced  to  follow  you.  I  tell  you 
frankly  that  I've  grown  suspicious.  You've  been 
studying  Oriental  mysticism.  You've  been  to 
lectures  and  seances,  and,  for  all  I  know,  you  may 
be  a  favorite  pupil  of  this  chocolate-drop,  Ya- 
mama." 

My  wife  drew  herself  up  to  my  full  height,  and 
gazed  down  at  me,  freezingly. 

"  You  mean  to  imply,  Mrs.  Stevens."  she  re 
marked,  with  studied  coldness,  "  that  I  was  de 
liberately  responsible  for  what  happened  this 
morning,  or  last  night  ?  " 

"  Don't  dare  to  call  me  Mrs.  Stevens,  Caro 
line,"  I  whispered,  shaking  with  futile  rage.  "  If 
I  have  suspected  you,  have  I  not  had  sufficient 
circumstantial  evidence?  Mrs.  Taunton  tells  me 
that  this  rascally  fakir  Yamama  turns  people  into 
132 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

pigs,  frogs,  any  old  thing.  And  you've  allowed 
Edgerton  to  bring  him  here  to-night!  I  don't 
believe  that  you  have  the  slightest  desire  to — ah 
— change  back  again." 

My  wife  laughed  aloud  in  my  most  disagree 
able  manner. 

"  Here's  to  you,  good  as  you  are,  and  here's 
to  me,  bad  as  I  am !  "  she  cried,  with  most  un 
timely  geniality,  and,  without  more  ado,  threw 
open  the  door  to  our  apartments.  In  the  center 
of  the  room  stood  Suzanne,  pale  but  self- 
contained,  awaiting  my  advent.  For  a  moment, 
a  mad  project  tempted  me.  If  I  rushed  down 
stairs  and  had  a  fit  in  the  lower  hall,  I  might 
escape  many  of  the  horrors  that  the  evening 
threatened  to  bring  with  it.  But  if  I  took  this 
heroic  course  a  doctor  would  be  called  in.  On 
the  whole,  I  preferred  Suzanne  to  a  physi 
cian. 

I  realize,  clearly  enough,  that  I  lack  the  ability 
to  keep  or  reject  data  with  the  unerring  judg 
ment  of  the  professional  story-teller.  I  should 
133 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

like  to  give  to  my  testimony  a  somewhat  artistic 
structure,  but  I  am  hampered  in  this  inclination 
by  the  necessity  of  following  the  actual  sequence 
of  events.  Being  neither  a  novelist  nor  a  scient 
ist,  I  am  in  danger  of  making  an  amorphous  pre 
sentment  of  facts  that  shall  fail  either  to  con 
vince  the  psychologist  or  entertain  the  idle  reader 
of  an  empty  tale.  On  the  whole,  I  am  prone  to 
make  sacrifices  in  behalf  of  the  latter.  My  nat 
ural  inclination  is  toward  Art  rather  than  toward 
Science,  and  for  this  reason  I  shall  remain  silent 
regarding  the  petty  episodes  of  the  hour  that  fol 
lowed  my  talk  with  Caroline.  As  it  is,  my  nar 
rative  is  overweighted  with  what  may  be  called 
details  of  the  toilet. 

At  half-after  six  my  wife  and  I  entered  our 
drawing-room  under  a  flag  of  truce.  The  an 
noyances  that  had  hampered  Caroline's  unaided 
efforts  to  don  my  evening  clothes  had  had  a  bene 
ficial  effect  upon  her  exultant,  overbearing  ten 
dencies.  She  was  subdued  in  manner  to  the 
verge  of  gloom. 

134 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  Why  are  you  so  downhearted,  my  dear  ?  "  I 
asked.  "  Don't  you  like — ah — my  appearance  ?  " 

"  Which  appearance?  "  growled  Caroline,  glar 
ing  at  me.  "  Are  the  studs  in  the  right  place  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they  are,"  I  answered  cheerfully. 
"  I  never  looked  better,  I'm  sure.  I  congratulate 
you.  And  Suzanne  tells  me  that  this  costume  is 
very  becoming  to  you.  The  one  I  have  on,  I 
mean.  Have  you  noticed,  Caroline,  what  an  in 
fernal  nuisance  pronouns  have  become?  I'm 
glad  our  nouns  have  no  gender.  What  did  you 
say  to  young  Van  Tromp  at  the  Cromptons' 
dance?  " 

My  beard  seemed  to  fairly  bristle  with  Caro 
line's  anger  and  astonishment. 

"  Van  Tromp ! "  she  exclaimed,  in  a  surly 
basso.  "  What  has  he  been  doing  now  ?  Hor 
rid  little  thing !  He's  not  one  of  the  boys,  is  he, 
my  dear?  " 

I  had  seated  myself  with  some  difficulty,  an 
noyed  at  Suzanne  for  lacing  Caroline  so  tightly, 
but  rather  pleased,  inwardly,  at  my  feminine 

135 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

beauty  and  Parisian  costume.  Caroline  stood 
not  far  away,  six  feet  tall,  broad-shouldered,  a 
manly  figure  in  black  and  white. 

"  Van  Tromp,"  I  remarked,  in  the  soft  musical 
tones  that  had  at  last  reconciled  me  to  my  bor 
rowed  voice,  "  Van  Tromp  is  a  wandering-  min 
strel,  a  troubadour  out  of  his  time,  an  age-end 
Romeo,  who  haunts  Juliet's  balcony  at  all  hours 
of  the  day  and  night  playing  a  hurdy-gurdy  and 
reciting  his  own  rhymes.  Van  Tromp  is  the  one 
bright  gleam  in  a  black  and  starless  night.  He 
would  atone  for  a  dreary  day  were  not  Yamama 
coming  too." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Caroline,"  growled 
my  wife,  shifting  my  feet  uneasily. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  what  Van  Tromp  said 
to  you  at  the  Cromptons'  dance,"  I  said,  relent 
lessly.  "  I'll  return  to  the  subject  later  on. 
Now  tell  me — ah — Reginald,  what  you  know 
abou  Yamama.  You  intimated,  unless  I  am  mis 
taken,  that  my  suspicions  as  to  your  collusion  with 
this  Oriental  fakir  were  unfounded  ?  " 
136 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  Unfounded!  "  exclaimed  my  wife,  scornfully. 
"  Absurd !  ridiculous !  Do  you  imagine  that  I 
would  choose  this  clumsy  body  of  yours  in  prefer 
ence  to  mine?  Look  at  me,  and  then  glance  at 
the  mirror,  my  dear.  I'll  admit  that  I've  had  a 
very  enjoyable  day.  But  I  assure  you  I  know 
little  more  about  Yamama  than  you  do.  I  am 
very  nervous  about  him.  I  don't  know  what  he'll 
do  to  us.  But  I  have  a  horrible  fear  that  he  will 
read  our  secret  at  a  glance." 

"  If  he  does — ah — Caroline,"  I  cried,  excitedly, 
"  slug  him !  Never  mind  about  hospitality.  Hit 
him  a  crack  on  the  nose.  You  can  apologize  to 
Edgerton  afterward." 

"  That's  just  like  a  man,"  grumbled  Caroline. 
"  You  think  you  can  defeat  esoteric  Buddhism 
with  your  fists.  I'm  rather  ashamed  of  you,  my 
dear." 

I  felt  the  blood  coming  into  Caroline's  cheeks. 

"  It  won't  do,  of  course,"  I  murmured,  pres 
ently.  "  We  must  use  diplomacy,  not  force,  in 
dealing  with  this  Oriental  nuisance.  Perhaps 
137 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Yamama  will  find  little  Van  Tromp  sufficiently 
amusing  to  enable  us  to  escape  detection.  I'm 
inclined  to  think  that  Van  Tromp  is  the  outward 
and  visible  sign  of  a  love-sick  tadpole.  His  sis 
ter,  the  debutante,  is  not  so  bad.  I  suppose  she'll 
fall  to  Edgerton  at  dinner?  " 

"  We  must  have  a  rehearsal,  you  and  I,"  re 
marked  Caroline,  gruffly.  "  I  escort  Mrs.  Edger 
ton,  of  course,  and  you'll  take  Van  Tromp' s  arm. 
You'll  like  that." 

"Do  you  see  these  violets — ah — Reginald?" 
I  cried,  dramatically,  making  a  gesture  toward 
Van  Tromp's  floral  offering,  now  bedecking  my 
corsage.  "  He  sent  them  to  you.  What  was 
Van  Romeo's  little  game?  You  were  to  wear 
the  violets  to-night,  if  you  really  meant  what  you 
said  to  him  at  the  Cromptons'  dance.  As  you  al 
ways  mean  what  you  say,  my  dear,  I  have  hung 
out  the  sign  of  your — ah — veracity,  so  to  speak. 
There's  more  to  come,  of  course.  There's  a 
poem,  for  one  thing.  I'll  read  it  aloud  when  we 
get  our  coffee." 

138 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

I  saw  that  my  heavy  face  was  flushed  and  that 
my  eyes  glowed  with  anger  as  I  glanced  upward 
at  my  wife.  She  strode  toward  me  menacingly, 
and  laid  a  heavy  hand  upon  her  bare  shoulder. 
Seizing  Van  Tromp's  violets,  before  I  could  re 
cover  from  my  astonishment,  she  tore  them  from 
their  fastenings,  and  hurled  them  toward  a  remote 
corner  of  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  carry  a  joke  too  far,"  she  growled, 
menacingly.  "  If  you  dare  to  read  that  poem  I'll 
— I'll  tell  Yamama  the  whole  story  when  he 
comes.  I  know  what  to  say  to  him,  and  he'll  do 
what  I  ask  him  to  do.  I  give  you  fair  warning." 

I  fell  back  in  my  chair,  cold  and  disheartened. 
My  worst  suspicions  seemed  to  be  confirmed. 
Caroline  was  in  league,  as  I  had  feared,  with  that 
sunburnt  fakir  from  the  Far  East!  At  that  mo 
ment,  Jones  entered  the  room. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edgerton,"  he  announced,  and, 
an  instant  later,  "  Miss  Van  Tromp,  Mr.  Van 
Tromp." 


139 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A   DINNER   AND   A    DISCUSSION. 

Yesterday  This  Day's  Madness  did  prepare  : 
To-morrow's  Silence,  Triumph,  or  Despair. 
Drink  !  for  you  know  not  whence  you  came,  nor  why. 
Drink  !  for  you  know  not  why  you  go,  nor  where. 

— Omar  Kh&yy&m. 

IT  is  always,  under  the  best  of  conditions,  un 
certain  how  a  dinner-party  will  "  go  off."  Peo 
ple  are  not  unlike  the  ingredients  of  a  salad-dress 
ing.  The  smoothness  of  the  dressing  depends 
upon  a  mysterious  chemical  affinity  that  is  recog 
nized  by  the  salad-maker  but  never  wholly  under 
stood.  All  the  arts  are  closely  related  to  each 
other.  A  dinner-party,  a  salad-dressing  or  an 
epic  poem  demands  creative  effort,  and  is  success 
ful  in  so  far  as  its  creator  has  made  an  effective 
fusion  of  its  separate  parts. 

Caroline  had  been  inclined  to  believe  that  her 
140 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

fame  as  a  dinner-giver  was  no  more  than  her  due. 
She  had  reached  an  altitude  as  a  triumphant  host 
ess  from  which  she  could  make  experiments  of 
a  more  or  less  interesting  kind.  She  enjoyed 
bringing  together  around  our  board  seemingly 
antagonistic  social  molecules  to  see  if  they  would 
fuse.  She  had  planned  to-night's  dinner  much 
as  a  chemist  prepares  his  materials  for  a  novel 
combination.  Edgerton  and  Mrs.  Edgerton,  Van 
Tromp  and  Miss  Van  Tromp  formed  the  basis 
for  an  experiment  that  might  produce  either  a 
perfume  or  an  explosion. 

What  the  result  would  have  been  had  Caro 
line's  effort  not  been  hampered  by  a  soul-trans 
position  that  made  many  things  awkward  to  us 
that  were  unobserved  by  our  guests,  I  cannot  say. 
A  large  portion  of  the  function,  especially  its  ear 
lier  stages,  is  a  blur  and  a  buzz  in  my  memory. 
It  had  been  like  this  from  the  first,  whenever  I 
had  come  into  the  butler's  sphere  of  influence. 
Van  Tromp  and  Edgerton  were  not  especially  ter 
rifying.  I  knew  their  limitations.  But  Jones 
141 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

impressed  me  as  a  mystery,  concealing  in  a 
wooden  exterior  most  frightful  possibilities  for 
mischief.  I  did  not  fully  recover  my  self-control, 
if  such  it  could  be  called,  until  after  the  fish  had 
been  served.  By  that  time,  the  situation  in  the 
dining-room  was  about  as  follows : 

Caroline,  playing  the  role  of  host,  was  doing 
nicely,  but  was,  I  feared,  inclined  to  over-act  the 
part  a  bit.  Little  Van  Tromp,  a  blue-eyed,  in 
significant-looking  man,  with  a  tender  mustache, 
pointed  blond  beard  and  too  much  hair  on  his 
head,  was  lowspirited  and  inclined  to  wander  in 
his  talk.  He  would  glance  at  my  corsage,  and 
then  cast  a  reproachful,  languishing  glance  at 
Caroline's  eyes,  into  which  I  found  it  possible, 
now  and  then,  to  throw  an  expression  of  coquetry 
that  revived  the  poet's  drooping  spirits  for  a  time. 
Mrs.  Edgerton,  a  handsome  mondaine,  was  al 
ways  self-poised,  animated  and  self-satisfied. 
Miss  Van  Tromp,  unlike  her  sister,  Mrs.  Taun- 
ton,  was  petite,  vivacious  and  rather  pretty,  but 
somewhat  in  awe  of  her  brother's  genius.  Edger- 
142 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

ton  was  a  typical  New  Yorker  of  the  prosperous 
type,  possessing  blood,  breeding  and  a  pleasing 
exterior. 

Mrs.  Edgerton  thought  that  I  looked  some 
what  fagged. 

"  I've  had  such  a  busy  day,  don't  you  know 
— ah — my  dear,"  I  exclaimed,  glancing  at  my  face 
across  the  table,  and  flushing  at  the  gleam  of 
merriment  that  Caroline  flashed  at  me  from  my 
eyes. 

"  You  and  Mrs.  Edgerton  really  do  too  much," 
commented  Edgerton,  politely.  "  We  are  apt  to 
underestimate  a  woman's  cares  and  burdens, 
Reggie,"  he  added,  addressing  Caroline. 

"  Indeed  we  are,"  Caroline  asserted,  readily, 
in  my  deep  voice.  "  I'm  inclined  to  think,  Edger 
ton,"  she  continued,  giving  a  splendid  imitation 
of  my  most  impressive  manner,  "  that  we  do  scant 
justice  to  our  wives,  while  we  are  forever  harp 
ing  upon  our  own  importance." 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  cried  little  Van  Tromp,  play- 
143 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

fully.  I  manfully  resisted  an  inclination  to  hurl  a 
wine-glass  at  his  too  picturesque  head. 

Mrs.  Edgerton  smiled  at  me.  "  What  has  hap 
pened  to  Mr.  Stevens,  Caroline?"  she  cried,  jo 
cosely.  "  Unless  my  memory  is  at  fault,  I  have 
heard  him  say  that  you  and  I  are  '  long  on  leisure 
and  short  on  work.' ' 

"  An  epigram ! "  piped  the  poet,  rolling  his 
eyes  in  exaggerated  rapture. 

"Did  I  ever  make  that  remark?  "  I  heard  my 
voice  asking  in  surprise.  "  I'm  afraid,  Mrs. 
Edgerton,  that  you  have  misrepresented  the 
source  of  what  Mr.  Van  Tromp  has  mistaken  for 
an  epigram.  It  sounds  to  me,  who  never  said 
it,  more  like  a  Wall  street  bull." 

"  I  can't  bear  that,"  I  ventured,  in  Caroline's 
merriest  tones,  and  Miss  Van  Tromp  giggled. 

"  The  point  at  issue,  as  I  understand  it,"  began 
Edgerton,  genially,  "  is  whether  Reggie  is  mak 
ing  a  confession.  Did  you  cry  '  Peccavi ! '  old 
man?" 

"  You  are  as  great  a  sinner  in  this  matter  as  I 
144 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

am,"  answered  Caroline,  seriously,  looking  at 
Edgerton.  "  How  often  have  I  heard  you  com 
plain  of  overwork,  my  dear  fellow!  They  were 
saying  at  the  club  this  afternoon  that  you  seldom 
reached  there  before  four  o'clock." 

A  flush  came  into  Edgerton's  face,  and  Mrs. 
Edgerton  laughed  aloud. 

"Betrayed!  betrayed!"  she  exclaimed,  glee 
fully.  "  Reggie  has  deserted  you,  hubbie  dear." 

"  This  is  absolutely  shocking !  "  cried  Miss  Van 
Tromp.  "  I  shall  never  marry." 

"  Let  us  change  the  subject,"  I  suggested,  sup 
pressing  a  shudder  as  Jones  glided  past  me.  "  We 
have  become  a  horrible  warning  to  our  two  un 
married  guests — ah — Reginald." 

"  I  am  not  easily  frightened,  Mrs.  Stevens,"  the 
poet  dared  to  say,  looking  at  me  courageously. 

"  Discretion  is  the  better  part  of  bachelorhood," 
I  retorted,  and  Van  Romeo  collapsed  at  once. 

"  I  am  so  excited  at  the  prospect  of  meeting 
Yamama,"  said  Mrs  Edgerton,  presently.     "  He 
says  such  wonderful  things !  " 
10  145 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  And  does  'em,  too,"  I  murmured,  under  my 
breath,  and  flashing  a  glance  at  my  smiling  face 
across  the  table. 

"  What  does  he  say?  "  asked  Miss  Van  Tromp, 
with  youthful  curiosity. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  begin  to  tell  you,"  protested  Mrs. 
Edgerton,  and  then  began :  "  He  says  that 
poetry  suffices;  that  he  cannot  understand  why 
prose  was  invented." 

"  Hear !  hear !  "  cried  little  Van  Tromp,  with 
enthusiasm. 

"  He  abhors  egotism.  Intellectual  self-satis 
faction  is  hideous,  he  says." 

"  He  ought  to  know,"  I  exclaimed,  and  Caro 
line  had  the  audacity  to  laugh. 

"  Go  on,  Mrs.  Edgerton,"  cried  the  Van 
Tromps  with  one  voice. 

"  Yamama  tells  us  that  our  Western  world  is 
not  only  self-satisfied,  but  ignorant.  We  are  con 
tented  with  half-truths.  Science  makes  a  discov 
ery,  as  it  imagines,  and,  behold!  it  is  something 
that  the  East  has  known  for  ages." 
146 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

"  But  how  about  the  famine  in  India?  "  asked 
Edgerton,  argumentatively.  "  If  they  know  so 
much,  these  Eastern  wise  men,  why  don't  they 
make  grain  grow  in  a  dry  season?  They  are 
great  frauds,  eh,  Reggie?  " 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,  Edgerton,"  I  heard 
my  voice  in  answer.  "  You  fail  to  get  their 
point  of  view." 

"  Betrayed  again,  Edgerton,"  laughed  the  poet. 

"What's  their  point  of  view?"  grumbled 
Edgerton,  casting  a  glance  of  surprise  at  Caro 
line. 

"  If  you  believed  in  reincarnation,"  exclaimed 
my  wife,  in  my  somewhat  overbearing  manner, 
"  you  would  look  upon  death  as  merely  a  step 
ping-stone  to  a  higher  existence.  A  famine, 
don't  you  see,  helps  a  large  number  of  souls  up 
the  spiral." 

"  Mr.  Stevens  has  become  a  theosophist,"  cried 
Mrs.  Edgerton,  in  exaggerated  amazement. 

"  How  perfectly  lovely,"  commented  Miss  Van 
Tromp,  somewhat  irrelevantly.  I  saw  Jones 
147 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

pouring  wine  at  the  poet's  corner,  and  I  thought 
that  his  hand  trembled.  I'm  sure  that  my  voice 
was  unsteady  as  I  remarked : 

"  But — ah — Reginald,  what  about  snakes  and 
— ah — frogs  ?  Starvation  is  bad  enough,  but  you 
aren't  going  up  a  spiral  if  you  are  changed  into 
something  that  squirms  and  crawls." 

"  It's  not  like  climbing  a  ladder,"  answered  my 
voice,  authoritatively.  "  You  may  go  down,  now 
and  then,  but  as  the  ages  pass  the  general  trend 
is  upward." 

"  It's  adfully  interesting,"  reflected  Miss  Van 
Tromp,  aloud.  "  But  how  is  it  done?  " 

"  It  isn't  done ! "  exclaimed  Edgerton,  almost 
angrily,  "  it's  only  half-baked.  Of  all  the  absurd 
nonsense  that  is  talked  this  Oriental  mysticism 
is  the  worst.  That's  why  I  was  glad  to  get  this 
man  Yamama  to  come  here  this  evening.  I  want 
to  prove  to  Mrs.  Edgerton  that  he's  just  about 
as  significant  as  a  Bab  ballad." 

"  Do  you  think  that  Yamama  will  be  inclined  to 
do — ah — stunts,  Mr.  Edgerton?"  I  faltered, 
148 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

catching  the  butler's  eye,  and  wondering  why 
Caroline's  toes  got  cold  so  easily. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  stunts,  my  dear?" 
Caroline  asked,  using  my  voice,  rather  sternly. 
"  Yamama,  I  imagine,  would  not  understand  the 
word.  He  is  not  here  to  play  tricks." 

"What  is  he  here  for — ah — my  dear?"  I 
asked,  in  a  falsetto  that  was  too  shrill  to  be  good 
form.  Mrs.  Eclgerton  looked  annoyed,  and 
Edgerton  said,  half-apologetically : 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Stevens,  I  thought  that  you 
would  be  glad  to  have  Yamama  come  to  us  to 
night.  Frankly,  I  wanted  to  make  a  closer  study 
of  the  man,  and  your  husband  assured  me 
that  it  would  be  pleasing  to  you  to  have  him 
here." 

"  Don't  think  me  inhospitable  and  ungrateful, 
Mr.  Edgerton,"  I  began  in  Caroline's  smoothest 
manner.  "  I  shall  enjoy  meeting  Yamama,  of 
course.  But  do  you  really  think  that  a  man  who 
prefers  poetry  to  prose  can  be  trusted?  " 

Van  Tromp  gasped  and  glanced  furtively  at 
149 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Caroline.  The  latter  raised  her  wine-glass,  smiled 
at  me  gaily,  and  I  heard  my  voice  crying : 

"  Here's  to  you,  my  dear,  good  as  you  are!  " 

"What  are  you  staring  at,  Jones?"  I  asked, 
angrily,  turning  sharply  toward  the  butler.  He 
continued  his  task  of  serving  the  course  without 
noticing  my  reproof.  My  wife  and  guests  were 
gazing  at  me  in  surprise. 

"  A  toast !  A  toast !  "  cried  little  Van  Tromp, 
almost  hysterically. 

Edgerton  laughed  aloud.  "  Let  us  drink  to  the 
mysterious  East,"  he  suggested,  like  one  who  bore 
an  olive  branch  in  his  hand. 

"  To  the  secrets  of  the  Orient  and  Yamama !  " 
amended  Caroline,  showing  my  teeth  to  me  in  a 
cruel  smile. 

"  Yamama !    Yamama !  "  murmured  my  guests. 

As  we  sipped  our  wine,  I  glanced  at  Jones. 
There  was  a  flush  on  his  phlegmatic  face,  but  he 
appeared  to  be  paying  no  attention  to  anything 
but  his  duties. 


150 


CHAPTER  XII. 

YAMAMA  AND  RELEASE. 

Then  dimness  passed  upon  me,  and  that  song 
Was  sounding  o'er  me  when  I  woke 
To  be  a  pilgrim  on  the  nether  earth. 

— Dean  Alford. 

ON  our  return  to  the  drawing-room,  I  found 
myself  annoyed  by  the  attention  of  little  Van 
Tromp  and  appalled  by  the  imminent  advent  of 
Yamama.  A  new  and  most  distressing  dread 
had  crept  into  my  errant  soul.  I  had  begun  to 
think  that  I  should  come  to  hate  my  wife,  unless 
she  altered  at  once  her  mode  of  procedure.  The 
fear  was  upon  me  that  she  had  enjoyed  the  day's 
experience  sufficiently  to  tempt  her  to  make  ex 
isting  conditions  permanent.  Angry  as  I  was 
with  her,  I  realized  that  diplomacy  was  a  better 
tool  at  present  than  denunciation. 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  I  must  speak  to  her  at  once,"  I  mused  aloud, 
glancing-  at  my  manly,  patrician,  well-groomed 
outward  seeming  as  Caroline  stood  at  the  further 
end  of  the  room,  chatting  with  Miss  Van  Tromp 
and  the  Edgertons.  An  exclamation  beside  me 
convinced  me  that  little  Van  Tromp  was  very 
wide-awake. 

"  Shall  I  take  you  to  her,  Mrs.  Stevens  ? 
There  is  no  sacrifice  that  I  would  not  make  for 
you.  You  would  go  to  Mrs  Edgerton  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Edgerton?"  I  exclaimed,  somewhat 
dazed  for  the  moment.  "  No ;  I  was  referring  to 
— ah — Reginald.  Tell  him  I  want  to  see  him,  will 
you,  old  man?  These  infernal  skirts  are  such  a 
nuisance! " 

The  poet's  eloquent  eyes  recalled  me  to  my 
senses.  He  was  gazing  at  me  in  amazement, 
evidently  wondering  if  I  had  drunk  too  deep  a 
toast  to  Yamama. 

"  What  a  pitiable  fate  is  mine !  "  murmured 
Van  Romeo,  gloomily.  "  I  have  been  dreaming 
of  this  moment  for  days,  and,  lo!  you  destroy  my 
152 


'Unannounced  and  unattended,  Yamana  glided  into  the 
drawing-room." 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

happiness  by  a  word.  Chasing  a  rainbow  is  so 
much  more  delightful  that  summoning  your  lesser 
half!" 

"Lesser  half,  indeed!"  I  could  not  refrain 
from  saying,  bitterly.  "  My  three-quarters,  or 
more.  Look  here,  Van  Tromp,  if  you  don't 
move  more  rapidly  I  shall  read  those  silly  verses 
of  yours  to  Yamama  when  he  arrives,  and  he'll 
turn  you  into  a  green-and-yellow  parrot.  Good 
heavens,  man,  it's  too  late !  There  he  is !  " 

Unannounced  and  unattended,  Yamama  glided 
into  the  drawing-room.  I  recognized  him  at  a 
glance,  and  Caroline's  bosom  heaved  with  a  con 
flict  of  emotions.  Little  Van  Tromp  had  jumped 
to  his  feet. 

"Isn't  he  stunning?"  he  exclaimed  most  un- 
poetically. 

Yamama  was,  indeed,  pleasing  to  the  eye.  His 
light-brown  complexion,  dark  brilliant  eyes  and 
gorgeous  costume  made  a  picture  that  gave  an 
Oriental  splendor  to  our  drawing-room.  He 
stood  motionless  for  a  moment,  half-way  between 
153 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Caroline  and  me.  Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  me 
that  I  had  a  duty  to  perform.  Caroline  and  I 
reached  Yamama  at  the  same  time. 

"  It  was  so  kind  of  you  to  come  to  us,"  I  heard 
Caroline  saying  to  the  adept.  "  Mrs.  Stevens 
was  overjoyed  to  hear  that  you  had  consented  to 
honor  us." 

Yamama's  black,  fathomless  eyes  smiled  at  me, 
like  deep,  dark  pools  touched  by  sunshine.  A 
chill  ran  through  me,  but  I  found  strength  to 
say,  falteringly: 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr. — ah — Yamama.  We're 
so  interested — ah — Reginald  and  I — in  Bhesoteri- 
cuddhism!  Glad  to  see  you!  Aren't  we — ah — 
Reggie?" 

I  suspected  that  Caroline  chuckled  behind  my 
beard.  I  am  sure  that  the  smile  in  Yamama's 
eyes  deepened. 

We  had  grouped  ourselves  around  the  adept, 

who  stood  calm,  picturesque,  silent,  in  the  center 

of  the  room;  the  majesty  and  mystery  of  the 

brooding  East   seeming  to  fill  the  universe   of 

154 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

a  sudden.  It  was  as  some  priceless  Orien 
tal  rug  had  become  on  the  instant  not  merely 
an  ornament,  but  a  creation  of  infinite  psychical 
significance. 

"  Does  he  talk  ?  "  Edgerton  whispered  to  me, 
and  I  glanced  at  him,  reprovingly.  Mrs.  Edger 
ton  was  gazing,  awestruck,  at  Yamama.  Pres 
ently,  the  adept  spoke,  in  a  voice  that  drove  from 
my  fevered  mind  all  thoughts  of  frogs,  snakes 
and  tadpoles. 

"  Man  is  composed  of  seven  principles,  a  unit, 
but  capable  of  partial  separation." 

"  Well,  rather !  "  I  could  not  refrain  from  say 
ing,  but  Yamama  ignored  my  rudeness.  He  went 
on  impressively,  while  the  group  surrounding 
him  listened  eagerly,  fascinated  by  his  appearance 
and  manner. 

"  The  evolutionary  process  demands  a  number 
of  planets,  corresponding  to  the  seven  principles. 
On  each  of  these  planets  a  long  series  of  lives  is 
required  before  a  full  circuit  is  made." 

"How  wildly  exciting!"  cried  Miss  Van 
155 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Tromp.  Yamama  smiled,  indulgently.  Then  he 
said: 

"  Before  reaching  the  perfection  attainable, 
every  soul  must  pass  through  many  minor  circuits. 
We  are  said  to  be  in  the  middle  of  the  fifth  circuit 
of  our  fourth  round,  and  the  evolution  of  this  cir 
cuit  began  about  a  million  years  ago." 

"  It  knocks  the  Ferris  Wheel  silly,"  I  overheard 
Edgerton  mutter  to  himself,  and  I  felt  an  unac 
countable  anger  at  his  flippancy. 

"  I  should  so  like  to  ask  you  a  question,"  fal 
tered  Miss  Van  Tromp,  and  Yamama  bowed  his 
inspired  head,  resignedly. 

"  How  soon  do  we  come  back  after  we  die  ?  " 

"  When  a  man  dies,"  answered  the  adept,  in 
his  low,  soft,  musical  voice,  "  his  ego  holds  the 
impetus  of  his  earthly  desires  until  they  are 
purged  away  from  that  higher  self,  which  then 
passes  into  a  spiritual  state,  when  all  the  psychic 
and  spiritual  forces  it  has  generated  during  the 
earthly  life  are  unfolded.  It  progresses  on  those 
planes  until  the  dormant  physical  impulses  assert 
156 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

themselves,  and  curve  the  soul  around  to  another 
incarnation,  whose  form  is  the  resultant  of  the 
earlier  lives." 

"  That's  easy,"  muttered  Edgerton,  at  my 
shoulder. 

"  I've  often  felt  that  way,"  exclaimed  Van 
Tromp,  gazing  ecstatically  at  Yamama. 

"Are  you  making  converts?"  asked  Mrs. 
Edgerton. 

A  haughty  smile,  dark-red  streaked  with  white 
against  a  brown  background,  the  whole  lighted 
by  two  eyes  of  marvelous  power,  met  our  gaze. 

"  Only  by  soul  itself  is  soul  perceived,"  an 
swered  Yamama,  somewhat  irrelevantly,  I 
thought. 

"  You're  out,  my  dear,"  whispered  Edgerton, 
playfully,  to  his  wife. 

"  May  I  trouble  you,  my  dear  sir,"  began  Van 
Tromp,  pompously — "  may  I  trouble  you  to  ex 
plain  to  a  mind  darkened  by  Occidental  erudition 
why  it  is  that  the  West  is  so  blind  to  the  mighty 
truths  that  you  teach  ?  " 

157 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  That's  a  touchdown/'  muttered  Edgerton. 

Yamama  gazed  fixedly  at  the  poet  for  a  time. 
Then  he  said : 

"  The  West  is  not  blind  to  the  mighty  truths 
of  which  you  speak.  You  only  imagine  that  you 
do  not  see  them.  Your  great  thinkers  have 
taught  what  we  teach.  Schopenhauer,  Lessing, 
Hegel,  Leibnitz,  Herder,  Fichte  the  younger,  are 
with  us.  Your  great  poets  sing  the  eternal  veri 
ties.  It  is  nothing  new,  that  which  I  bring  to 
you  from  the  East." 

"  Is  there — ah — any  reason  to  fear,"  I  dared 
to  ask,  "  that  when  we — ah — change  around 
again — I  mean — ah — get  reincarnaed,  you  see. 
that  we  become — ah — frogs  or — or  snakes — that 
is,  if  we  don't — ah — so  to  speak,  stay  put  ?  " 

My  voice  had  been  gradually  ascending  Caro 
line's  scale  until  it  hit  the  interrogation  mark  in 
a  sharp  falsetto.  As  Yamama's  eyes  met  mine  I 
thought  for  an  instant  that  I  had  been  struck  by 
lightning.  What  his  strange  glance — cutting 
through  me  until  I  knew  that  I  had  no  secrets 
158 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

left — meant  I  had  no  way  of  determining.  I  was 
like  a  rabbit  fascinated  by  an  anaconda. 

"  There  is  salvation  for  him  whose  self  disap 
pears  before  truth,  whose  will  is  bent  upon  what 
he  ought  to  do,  whose  sole  desire  is  the  perform 
ance  of  his  duty.  The  root  of  all  evil  is  ignor 
ance."  Thus  spake  Yamama,  whether  in  answer 
to  my  question  I  could  not  decide. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  love  of  money  ?  " 
asked  Edgerton,  in  an  unconventional  tone  of 
voice.  His  bump  of  reverence  is  not  well  devel 
oped. 

"  'Tis  but  a  small  part  of  the  ignorance  that  en 
folds  you  like  a  worthless  garment,"  answered  the 
adept,  coldly. 

"  That's  one  on  me,"  I  heard  Edgerton  mutter, 
while  Mrs.  Edgerton  laughed,  softly. 

"  The  Enlightened  One,"  went  on  Yamama, 
literally  in  a  brown  study,  "  saw  the  four  noble 
truths  which  point  out  the  path  that  leads  to  Nir 
vana  or  the  extinction  of  self." 

159 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Good  eye ! "  murmured  Edgerton,  and  his 
wife  whispered  "  Hush !  " 

As  I  glanced  at  Caroline,  I  saw  that  my  face 
had  undergone  a  change.  She  was  watching  the 
adept  with  my  eyes,  but  the  expression  on  my 
countenance  was  wholly  her  own. 

"  The  attainment  of  truth,"  continued  Ya- 
mama,  "  is  possible  only  when  self  is  recognized 
as  an  illusion.  Righteousness  can  be  practiced 
only  when  we  have  freed  our  mind  from  the  pas 
sion  of  egotism.  Perfect  peace  can  dwell  only 
where  all  vanity  has  disappeared." 

"  I've  known  that  for  years,"  exclaimed  Van 
Tromp,  brushing  his  hair  back  from  his  forehead 
in  a  self-conscious  way. 

I  had  begun  to  feel  faint. 

"Won't  you  be  seated — ah — Mr.  Yamama?" 
I  asked,  hoping  that  he  would  observe  my  indis 
position.  Even  as  I  spoke,  I  lost  sight  of  him. 
The  lights  went  out  of  a  sudden,  and  a  sharp, 
exquisite  pain  shot  through  me.  I  was  sur 
rounded  by  a  fathomless  gloom,  as  if  the  universe 
160 


When  Reginald  Was  Caroline. 

had  turned  black  at  a  word.  I  was  conscious,  but 
seemingly  alone  in  a  dark  void.  For  a  moment 
only  was  I  cognizant  of  self.  Then  there  came 
a  flash  of  dazzling  light,  and  I  knew  no  more. 

My  testimony  is  at  an  end.  A  week  has  passed 
since  Caroline  and  I  awoke  one  morning  to  find 
our  souls  transposed.  We  are  still  confined  to 
our  rooms,  suffering,  our  physician  tells  us,  from 
acute  nervous  prostration.  But  "  Richard's  him 
self  again !  "  When  we  recovered  our  senses — 
for  Caroline  had  fainted  at  the  moment  when  Ya- 
mama  dissappeared  from  my  sight — we  found 
ourselves  restored  to  our  respective  bodies;  but 
the  shock  of  our  psychical  interchange  had  left  us 
physically  weak  and  depressed. 

I  have  not  yet  had  the  energy  to  compare  notes 
with  Caroline  in  regard  to  our  uncanny  experi 
ences.  But,  fearing  that  my  memory  might  play 
me  false,  I  have  relieved  the  tedium  of  my  con 
valescence  by  jotting  down  the  foregoing  present 
ment,  in  the  hope,  as  I  have  said  before,  that  the 
ii  '  161 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

data  may  prove  of  interest  to  minds  more  erudite 
than  mine  and  my  wife's. 

Jenkins  has  returned  from  Hoboken — or  wher 
ever  he  went — and  I  have  had  him  remove  my 
beard.  It  had  become  a  horror  to  me.  Suzanne 
is  very  attentive  to  Caroline,  and  seems  to  have 
recovered  her  spirits. 

One  significant  fact  I  have  reserved  for  the 
last.  It  has  caused  me  much  uneasiness,  not  un- 
mingled  with  a  sense  of  relief.  Jones  has  not 
been  seen  since  the  night  of  our  weird  dinner 
party.  No  trace  of  him  has  been  found.  I  have 
advertised  for  a  butler,  but  have  not  yet  received 
an  application  that  appealed  to  me  in  my  present 
supersensitive  condition.  What  I  want  is  a  but 
ler  as  unlike  Jones  as  possible.  Unfortunately, 
he  was  a  pattern  of  his  kind.  But  I  hate  the 
very  thought  of  him,  and  so  I  shall  drop  my  pen 
at  this  point  and  watch  Suzanne  and  Caroline 
through  the  open  door.  I  think  I  shall  try  to 
get  down  to  the  club  to-morrow  to  see  the  boys. 


1 62, 


II. 

• 

How  Chopin  Came  to  &emsen. 


There  corns  th  eri!  to  my  house, 

And  none  of  ye  have  unt  to  help  me  know 

What  the  great  gods  portend  sending  me  this. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  ASIA. 


HOW  CHOPIN  CAME  TO  REMSEN. 


CHAPTER  I. 
CHOPIN'S  OPUS  47 

It  brings  an  instinct  from  some  other  sphere, 
For  its  fine  senses  are  familiar  all, 
And  with  the  unconscious  habit  of  a  dream, 
It  calls  and  they  obey. 

N.  P.  Willis. 

IT  has  been  with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  I 
have  agreed  to  submit  to  the  public  all  the  details, 
so  far  as  they  are  known  to  me,  of  my  husband's 
seemingly  miraculous  change  from  an  average 
man  into  a  genius.  Poor  Tom !  He  was  so 
happy  as  a  phlegmatic,  well-balanced,  common 
place  lawyer  and  clubman,  devoted  to  his  wife, 
his  profession  and  his  friends!  But  now,  alas, 
his  amazing  eccentricities  demand  from  me  a  pres 
entation  of  his  case  that  shall  change  censure 
167 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

into  sympathy  and  malicious  gossip  into  either 
silence  or  truth. 

I  am  forced  to  admit  at  the  outset  that  Tom  is 
justified  in  attributing  his  present  predicament 
to  my  own  fondness  for  music.  He  had  pro 
tested,  gently  but  firmly,  against  the  series  of 
musicals  that  I  had  planned  to  give  last  season. 

"  They'll  be  an  awful  nuisance,  my  dear,"  he 
had  remarked,  gloomily,  gazing  at  me  appealingly 
across  the  table  at  which  we  were  dining  en  tete-a- 
tete.  il  Why  not  substitute  bridge  whist  in  place 
of  the  music?  Why  will  you  insist  on  asking  a 
crowd  of  people  who  don't  care  a  rap  for  anything 
but  ragtime  to  listen  to  your  high-priced  soloists  ? 
A  musical,  Winifred,  is  both  expensive  and  tire 
some." 

"  What  a  Philistine  you  are,  Tom ! "  I  ex 
claimed,  protestingly,  knowing,  however,  that  my 
dear  old  pachyderm  would  not  wince  at  the  epi 
thet  I  had  hurled  at  him  across  the  board.  Tom's 
vocabulary  is  not  large,  and  possesses  a  legal 
rather  than  a  Biblical  flavor. 
168 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  What's  a  Philistine?  "  he  asked,  indifferently. 
"  If  it's  a  fellow  who  objects  to  inviting  a  lot  o' 
people  that  he  doesn't  like  to  listen  to  a  lot  o* 
playing  and  singing  that  they  don't  like,  well, 
then,  I'm  it.  But  what's  the  use  of  my  getting 
out  an  injunction  ?  If  you've  made  up  your  mind 
to  give  these  musicals,  Winifred,  I  might  as  well 
quash  my  appeal.  I've  no  standing  in  this  court." 

One  of  the  advantages  of  living  with  a  man  for 
ten  years  is  that  one  is  eventually  confronted  by 
a  most  fascinating  problem.  "  Why  did  I  marry 
him?"  is  the  question  that  adds  a  keen  zest  to 
existence.  We  derive  a  new  interest  in  life  from 
the  hope  that  the  future  may  provide  us  with  an 
answer  to  this  query.  I  can  remember  now,  to 
my  sorrow,  that  I  gazed  across  the  table  at  Tom's 
heavy,  immobile  face,  and  longed  for  some  radi 
cal,  perhaps  supernatural,  change  in  the  man  that 
should  render  him  more  congenial  to  me,  more 
sympathetic,  less  practical,  matter-of-fact,  com 
monplace.  A  moment  later  I  felt  ashamed  of 
myself  for  the  disloyalty  of  my  wish.  It  may  be 
169 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

that  subsequent  events  were  preordained  as  a  pun 
ishment  to  me  for  the  internal  discontent  to 
which  I  had  temporarily  succumbed. 

"  Tom  doesn't  look  quite  fit,  my  dear,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Jack  Van  Corlear  to  me  early  in 
the  evening  of  my  first — and  last — musical.  "  Is 
he  working  too  hard  ?  Jack  tells  me  that  Tom  has 
been  made  counsel  for  the  Pepper  and  Salt  Trust." 
"  It's  not  that,"  I  answered,  lightly,  glancing  at 
Tom  and  noting  the  unusual  pallor  of  his  too 
fleshy  face.  "  He's  expecting  an  evening  of  tor 
ture,  you  know.  He  hates  music.  He  can't  tell 
a  nocturne  from  a  ballade — and  they  both  torment 
him.  But  he's  an  awfully  good  fellow,  isn't  he? 
See,  he's  trying  to  talk  to  Signer  Turino.  I  hope 
he'll  remember  that  Verdi  didn't  write  '  Lohen 
grin.'  I've  been  coaching  Tom  for  several  days, 
but  it's  hard,  my  dear  Mrs.  Jack,  to  make  a  man 
who  doesn't  play  or  sing  a  note  remember  that  the 
Moonlight  Sonata  is  not  from  Gounod's  '  Faust,' 
and  that  it's  bad  form  to  ask  Mile.  Vanoni  if  she 
admires  '  Florodora.' ' 

170 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

My  duties  as  hostess  and  the  pronounced  suc 
cess  of  the  earlier  numbers  of  my  program  led 
me  presently  to  forget  Tom's  existence.  He  had 
been  cruelly  unjust  to  my  guests  in  asserting  that 
they  would  prefer  ragtime  to  the  classics.  The 
applause  that  had  rewarded  the  efforts  of  both 
Turino  and  Vanoni  had  been  spontaneous  and 
genuine.  Signorina  Molatti  had  created  an  ac 
tual  furor  with  her  violin  solo,  intensified,  no 
doubt,  by  her  marvelous  beauty.  It  was  Molatti's 
success  that  presently  recalled  Tom  to  my  reluc 
tant  consciousness.  As  the  dark-eyed,  fervid 
young  woman  responded  smilingly  to  an  insis 
tent  encore,  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  unimpres 
sionable  husband,  standing  erect  at  the  rear  of  the 
crowded  music-room  and  watching  the  girl's 
every  movement  with  eyes  alight  with  interest 
and  approval.  I  had  not  seen  his  unresponsive 
countenance  so  animated  before  in  years.  Mrs. 
Jack  Van  Corlear  had  followed  my  glance,  and  a 
mischievous  smile  was  in  her  face  as  she  leaned 
toward  me. 

171 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Perhaps  Tom  is  more  musical  than  you  imag 
ine,  my  dear,"  she  whispered,  maliciously. 

"Do  you  think  it's  the  violin?"  I  returned, 
laughingly,  ashamed  of  the  feeling  of  annoyance 
that  her  playful  pin-prick  had  given  me. 

Jealous  of  Tom !  The  idea  was  too  absurd.  I 
had  so  often  wished  to  be,  but  his  devotion  to  me 
had  always  been  chronic  and  incurable.  "  It's 
really  bad  form,"  I  had  once  said  to  him ;  "  your 
indifference  to  other  women,  Tom,  causes  com 
ment.  Overemphasis  is  always  vulgar.  You 
underscore  our  conjugal  bliss,  my  dear  boy,  in  a 
way  that  has  become  a  kind  of  silent  reproach 
to  other  people.  You  must  really  have  a  mild 
flirtation  now  and  then,  Tom." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  the  vivacious  Molatti  had 
noted  Tom's  too  apparent  enthusiasm,  for  she 
smiled  and  nodded  to  him  as  she  made  ready  to 
coax  her  Cremona  into  giving  her  silent  auditors 
new  proof  of  her  most  amazing  genius.  I,  a 
lover  of  music,  had  been  carried  into  unknown, 
blissful  realms  by  the  magic  of  her  bow,  my  whole 
172 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

being  throbbing  with  the  joy  of  strange,  weird 
harmonies  that  lured  my  errant  soul  away  from 
earth,  away  from  my  duties  as  a  hostess,  my  wor 
ries  as  a  wife.  I  came  back  to  my  music-room 
with  a  thump.  Something  unusual,  out  of  the 
common,  was  taking  place,  but  at  first  I  could  not 
concentrate  my  faculties  in  a  way  to  put  me  in 
touch  with  my  environment.  Presently  I  realized 
that  Signorina  Molatti  had  left  the  dais  and — 
could  I  believe  my  senses? — that  Tom  brazenly, 
nonchalantly,  before  the  gaze  of  two  hundred 
wondering  eyes,  had  seated  himself  at  the 
piano. 

"What's  the  matter  with  him?"  whispered 
Mrs.  Van  Corlear  to  me  in  an  awe-struck  tone. 

"Wait,"  I  answered,  irrelevantly;  "maybe  he 
won't  do  it." 

"  Do  what?  "  she  returned,  almost  hysterically. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  gasped;  and  the  thought 
flashed  through  my  mind  that  possibly  Tom  had 
been  drinking. 

There  lay  the  hush  of  expectancy  on  the  aston- 
173 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ished  throng.  Here  and  there  furtive  glances 
were  cast  at  my  program  cards  in  search  of  Tom's 
name  on  a  little  list  made  up  wholly  of  world- 
famous  artists.  But  the  large  majority  of  my 
guests  knew  as  well  as  I  that  Tom  had  never 
touched  a  piano  in  his  life,  that  his  ignorance  of 
music  was  as  pronounced  as  his  detestation  of  it. 
But  he  might  have  been  a  Paderewski  in  his  total 
absence  of  all  awkwardness  or  self-consciousness 
as  he  sat  motionless  at  the  instrument  for  a  mo 
ment,  coolly  surveying  us  all,  in  very  truth  like  a 
master  musician  sure  of  himself  and  rejoicing  in 
the  delight  that  he  was  about  to  vouchsafe  to  his 
auditors. 

I  cannot  recall  now  without  a  shudder  the  sen 
sation  that  cut  through  my  every  nerve  as  Tom 
raised  his  large,  pudgy  hands  above  the  keyboard, 
his  small,  gray  eyes  turned  toward  the  ceiling  just 
above  my  throbbing  head.  He  looked  at  that  in 
stant  like  the  very  incarnation  of  Philistinism 
poised  to  hurl  down  destruction  upon  the  center  of 
all  harmonies. 

174 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  It's  revenge,"  I  groaned,  under  my  breath, 
and  felt  Mrs.  Jack's  cold  hand  creep  into  mine. 

Down  came  the  paws  of  Nemesis,  and  lo,  the 
injustice  that  I  had  done  to  Tom  was  revealed  to 
me.  His  touch  was  masterly.  I  could  not  have 
been  more  amazed  had  I  seen  an  elephant  thread 
ing  a  needle.  The  whole  episode  was  strangely 
blended  of  the  uncanny  and  realistic.  I  found 
myself  noting  the  angle  at  which  Tom  held  his 
chin.  He  always  raised  it  thus  when  his  man 
shaved  him,  his  head  thrown  back  and  his  eyes 
half-closed. 

Then  gradually  it  dawned  on  me  that  I  was  tak 
ing  keen  delight  in  his  rendition  of  that  mar 
velous  ballade  in  A  flat  major  that  Chopin  dedi 
cated  to  Mile,  de  Noailles.  There  is  nothing  more 
thoroughly  Chopinesque  in  all  the  master's  works 
than  this  perfect  exposition  of  the  refined  in  art. 
Tom's  rendering  of  the  lovely  theme  in  F  major, 
one  of  the  most  delicate  in  the  world  of  music, 
thrilled  me  with  startled  admiration.  But  a  chill 
came  over  me.  What  would  he  do  with  the  sec- 

'75 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

tion  in  C  sharp  minor,  with  its  inverted  dominant 
pedal  in  the  right  hand  while  the  left  is  carrying 
on  the  theme?  Without  both  skill  and  passion 
on  the  part  of  the  performer  the  interpretation 
of  this  passage  is  certain  to  be  commonplace. 
But  hardly  had  this  doubt  assailed  me  when  I 
knew  that  Tom  had  triumphed  over  every  obstacle 
of  technique  and  temperament,  that  he  was  ap 
proaching  the  harmonic  grandeur  of  the  finale 
with  the  poise  and  power  of  genius  in  full  con 
trol  of  itself  and  its  medium. 

I  have  never  fainted.  Swooning  went  out  of 
fashion  long  before  my  time,  and  I  am  devoted  to 
the  modern  cult  of  self-control,  but  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  Mrs.  Jack,  who  is  really  fond  of  me  at 
times,  I  think  that  the  last  bar  of  Tom's  Opus  47 
would  have  seen  my  finish.  The  room  had  be 
gun  to  whirl  in  a  circle,  like  a  merry-go-round  in 
evening  dress,  when  she  steadied  me  by  whisper 
ing: 

"  It's  all  right,  my  dear.  Tom  wins  by  four 
lengths,  well  in  hand." 

176 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

I  came  to  myself  in  the  very  center  of  a  storm 
of  applause.  Our  guests  had  forgotten  the  con 
ventionalities  pertaining  to  a  will-ordered  musical. 
The  men  were  on  their  feet,  cheering.  The 
women  waved  fans  and  handkerchiefs,  and  pelted 
Tom  with  violets  and  roses.  The  poor  fellow 
sat  at  the  piano  in  a  half-dazed  condition.  A 
bunch  of  flowers,  deftly  thrown,  struck  him  on  the 
forehead,  and  he  put  his  gifted  hand  to  his  brow 
as  if  he  had  just  been  recalled  to  consciousness. 

"  Encore !  Encore !  "  cried  our  guests.  Tu- 
rino  was  gesticulating  frantically,  while  Mlle.Va- 
noni  and  Signorina  Molatti  smiled  and  clapped 
their  hands  in  exaggerated  ecstasy. 

I  was  worried  by  the  expression  that  had  come 
into  Tom's  face,  and  made  my  way  quickly  to 
ward  the  piano. 

"  Aren't  you  well,  my  dear?  "  I  asked,  bending 
toward  him,  while  the  uproar  behind  me  decreased 
a  bit. 

"  What  have  I  been  doing,  Winifred  ?  "  he 
asked,  sheepishly,  like  one  who  wakens  from  a 
12  177 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

dream.     "  Get  one  of  your  damned  dagos  to  sing, 
will  you  ?     I've  got  to  have  a  drink  or  die !  " 

Standing  erect  abruptly,  Tom  cast  a  defiant 
glance  at  the  chattering  throng  behind  me  and 
hurriedly  made  his  way  through  a  side  door  from 
the  music-room.  As  I  turned  away  from  the 
piano  I  saw  that  Signorina  Molatti's  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  his  retreating  figure  with  an  expression 
that  my  worldly  wisdom  could  not  interpret. 
There  was  more  of  wonder  than  of  admiration  in 
her  gaze,  a  gleam  of  questioning  and  longing 
that  might,  it  seemed  to  me,  readily  flame  into  hot 
anger. 


178 


CHAPTER  II. 

REMSEN  CONFRONTS  A  MYSTERY. 

From  memories  that  come  not  and  go  not ; 
Like  music  once  heard  by  an  ear 
That  cannot  forget  or  reclaim  it ; 
A  something  so  shy  it  would  shame  it 
To  make  it  a  show. 

JAMES  RUSSELL 

AFTER  saying  good-night  to  the  last  of  my 
guests,  who  had  expressed  regret  at  the  rumor 
that  my  husband  was  seriously  indisposed,  I  hur 
ried  to  the  smoking-room,  having  learned  that 
Tom  had  fled  thither  as  a  refuge  from  the  curious 
and  the  congratulatory.  As  I  came  upon  him  he 
was  alternately  puffing  a  cigar  and  sipping  a 
brandy-and-soda.  On  the  instant  the  conflicting 
emotions  that  had  beset  me  during  the  evening 
became  a  wave  of  anger,  sweeping  over  me  with 
irresistible  force. 

179 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Why  have  you  deceived  me,  Tom  Remsen?  " 
I  cried,  sinking  into  a  chair  and  resting  my  aching 
head  against  its  back,  as  I  scanned  his  pale,  weary 
countenance  attentively.  "  You  have  always  pre 
tended  that  you  had  no  knowledge  of  music.  I 
have  heard  you  say  that  you  could  not  whistle 
even  a  bar  of  '  Yankee  Doodle  '  correctly.  What 
a  poseur  you  have  been !  And  to-night,  in  a  vul 
gar,  theatrical  way  you  suddenly  exhibit  the  most 
astonishing  talent.  There  is  not  an  ameteur  in 
the  world,  Tom,  who  can  interpret  Chopin  with 
such  sympathy,  such  perfection  of  technique,  such 
reserved  power  as  you  displayed  this  evening. 
You  have  placed  me  in  a  ridiculous  position,  and 
I  can't  conceive  of  any  reasonable  motive  for  your 
unnatural  reticence.  Why,  Tom — answer  me! — 
why  have  you  concealed  from  me  the  fact  that 
you  are  an  accomplished — yes,  a  brilliant  musi 
cian?  Think  of  all  the  pleasure  that  we  have 
lost  in  the  last  ten  years  by  your  deception  and 
falsehoods — for  that's  what  they  were,  Tom !  " 
My  voice  broke  a  little,  and  I  felt  the  tears  creep- 
180 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

ing  toward  my  eyes.  "  You  have  been  cruel, 
Tom!  Knowing  my  passionate  love  for  music, 
why  did  you  choose  to  hide  a  talent  that  would 
have  drawn  us  so  close  together?  And  your 
revelation!  It  was  the  very  refinement  of  bru 
tality,  Tom  Remsen,  to  place  me  in  such  an  awk 
ward  attitude!  How  could  I  explain  my  ignor 
ance  of  your  genius  to  our  friends?  They  must 
consider  me  either  a  fool  or  a  liar.  As  for  what 
they  think  of  you,  Tom — " 

"  Stop  it,  Winifred ! "  cried  my  husband, 
hoarsely,  putting  up  a  hand  protestingly.  "  I've 
had  enough.  I  can't  stand  anything  more  to 
night.  If  I  tried  to  tell  you  the  truth  you 
wouldn't  believe  it,  so  you'd  better  leave  me.  I'll 
smoke  another  cigar.  I'll  never  get  to  sleep 
again,  I  fear." 

His  last  words  sounded  like  a  groan.  My 
mood  was  softened  by  his  evident  distress. 

"Do  try  to  tell  me  the  truth,  Tom,"  I  said, 
gently.  "  I'll  believe  what  you  say.  There's  a 
difference  between  positive  and  negative  lying.  I 
181 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

don't  think  you'd  tell  me  a  deliberate  falsehood, 
Tom." 

There  was  something  in  his  appearance  at  this 
moment  that  suggested  to  me  a  wounded  animal 
at  bay.  Presently  he  lighted  a  fresh  cigar,  and 
gazing  at  me  steadily,  said : 

"  The  cold,  hard  truth  is  this,  Winifred :  I 
never  touched  the  keys  of  a  piano  in  my  life  until 
an  hour  ago.  I  remember  being  drawn  irresisti 
bly  to  the  instrument.  What  happened  afterward 
I  don't  know.  The  first  thing  that  I  can  recall 
was  being  hit  in  the  head  with  some  fool  woman's 
bouquet.  I  remember  saying,  '  No  flowers, 
please,'  in  a  silly  kind  of  way,  but  what  it  all 
meant  I  didn't  know,  and  I  don't  know  now.  Do 
you?" 

I  sat  speechless,  gazing  at  Tom  in  amazement. 
He  had  never,  in  the  twelve  years  of  our  be 
trothal  and  marriage,  told  me  an  untruth.  I  had 
often  caught  myself  envying  women  whose  hus 
bands  spiced  the  realism  of  domestic  life  with  a 
romantic  tale  now  and  again.  I  know  a  woman 
182 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

who  derives  great  intellectual  enjoyment  from 
cross-questioning  her  lesser  half  every  twenty- 
four  hours  in  an  effort  to  prove  that  nature  de 
signed  her  for  a  clever  detective.  She  would  have 
drooped  and  died  had  she  married  Tom. 

As  I  watched  his  honest  face,  pale  now  and 
careworn,  I  realized  that  I  was  confronted  by  two 
explanations  of  the  present  crisis,  either  one  of 
which  was  inconceivable.  Tom  had  told  me  a 
deliberate  lie,  or  a  miracle,  to  use  an  unscientific 
word,  had  been  wrought  through  forces  the  ex 
istence  of  which  I  had  always  denied. 

"  No,  Tom,  I  don't  know  what  it  means,"  I 
answered,  presently.  "  How  did  you  happen  to 
choose  the  Chopin  ballade  for  your  debut?  " 

I  had  not  intended  to  hurt  the  poor  fellow's 
feelings,  but  the  change  in  his  expression  from 
weariness  to  wonderment  filled  me  with  remorse. 

"  I  didn't  choose  anything,"  he  muttered,  re 
proachfully.  "  If  I  made  an  ass  of  myself,  Wini 
fred,  I  was  not  responsible.  What  the  deuce  did 
I  do  ?  You  haven't  told  me — and  I  don't  know." 
183 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

By  an  effort  of  will  I  controlled  the  nerv 
ous  chill  that  was  threatening  me,  and  said, 
quietly : 

"  Tom,  you  played  Chopin's  Ballade  Number  3, 
Opus  47,  in  a  way  that  would  have  satisfied 
Chopin  himself.  No  performer  living  could  have 
equaled  your  rendition.  It  was  masterly." 

Tom's  mouth  fell  open  in  amazement.  He 
closed  it  over  a  brandy-and-soda.  "  I  can't  be 
lieve  it,"  he  cried,  setting  down  his  glass  and 
gazing  at  the  smoke  curling  up  from  his  cigar. 
"  Why,  Winifred,  the  thing's  absurd.  I  never 
heard  the — what  do  you  call  it? — in  my  life. 
And  if  I'd  listened  to  it  every  day  for  a  year  I 
couldn't  play  it.  I  couldn't  even  whistle  it." 

I  laughed  aloud  hysterically.  There  was  a  lu 
dicrous  side  to  the  situation,  despite  its  uncanny 
features. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at,  Winifred?"  de 
manded  Tom,  angrily.  "  Is  there  anything  funny 
about  all  this?  It  seems,  if  I  can  believe  what 
you  say,  that  I  made  a  kind  of  pianola  of  myself 
184 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

without  knowing  it.  Is  that  a  joke?  I  tell  you, 
Winifred,  it's  paresis  or  something  worse.  May 
be  I'll  rob  a  bank  next.  And  when  I'm  bailed  out, 
I  suppose  I'll  find  you  on  a  broad  grin." 

I  was  too  near  the  verge  of  nervous  collapse 
to  repress  the  feeling  of  unreasonable  annoyance 
that  came  over  me  at  Tom's  words.  "  I  think 
you're  very  unjust,  Tom,"  I  exclaimed,  with  great 
lack  of  judgment. 

"  Unjust !  "  he  echoed,  petulantly.  "  Unjust 
to  whom — to  what  ?  " 

"  You're  unjust  to  Chopin,"  I  answered,  hotly, 
realizing  that  I  was  talking  in  a  distinctly  childish 
way.  "  Playing  one  of  his  masterpieces  is  not 
quite  like  robbing  a  bank." 

"  Why  not,"  he  snapped,  "  if  I  don't  know  how 
to  play  it?  I  certainly  robbed  those  fool  women 
of  their  flowers,  didn't  I?  They  pelted  me  with 
bouquets  as  if  I  were  a  boy  wonder  or  a  long 
haired  bang-the-keys,  and  I  don't  know  the  soft 
pedal  from  the  key  of  E.  I  wouldn't  do  Chopin 
an  injustice.  He's  dead,  isn't  he?  But  you 
185 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

mustn't  do  me  an  injustice,  Winifred.  I  can't 
stand  anything  more  to-night." 

My  heart  seemed  to  come  into  my  throat  with 
a  sob,  and  I  drew  my  chair  close  to  Tom's  and 
took  his  cold  hand  in  mine.  "  I'm  sorry,  Tom. 
I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I've  been 
sorely  tried,  you  must  admit.  I'm  not  quite  my 
self,  I  fear." 

Tom  turned  quickly  and  gazed  squarely  into 
my  eyes.  "  Don't  you  worry,  Winifred.  You're 
yourself,  all  right.  But  who  the  dickens  am  I? 
If  I'm  Tom  Remsen,  I  can't  play  Chopin. 
And  you  say  I  did  play  Chopin.  I  don't  say  I 
didn't.  But  how  did  I  do  it?  Tom  Remsen 
couldn't  do  it.  Look  at  my  hands,  Winifred. 
Could  my  fingers  knock  a  pianissimo  out  of  a 
minor  chord? — if  that's  what  that  fellow  Chopin 
does.  I  tell  you,  it's  queer,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

A  well  defined  shudder  shook  Tom's  heavy 
frame,  and  his  hand,  as  it  rested  in  mine,  trem 
bled  perceptibly.  His  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper 
as  he  asked :  "  Do  you  think  it  possible,  Winifred, 
1 86 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

I  was  hypnotized,  Winifred?  I  never  took  any 
stock  in  hypnotism,  but  there  may  be  something 
in  it.  That  Signer  Turino  has  got  a  queer  eye." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  think,  Tom," 
I  admitted,  reluctantly.  By  abandoning  the  the 
ory  that  Tom  had  deceived  me  for  a  dozen  years 
I  was  plunged  into  a  tempestuous  sea  of  mystery 
and  conjecture.  "  But  come,  my  dear  boy,  you 
are  fagged  out.  We'll  talk  it  over  in  the  morn 
ing.  Perhaps  our  minds  will  be  clearer  after  a 
few  hours'  sleep." 

"  I  couldn't  sleep  now,"  he  returned  nervously, 
glancing  at  his  watch.  "  Don't  go  yet,  Winifred. 
It's  only  two  o'clock." 

We  sat  silent  for  a  time,  hand  clasped  in  hand, 
like  a  youth  and  maiden  awed  by  a  sudden  reali 
zation  of  the  marvelous  mysteries  of  existence. 

Presently  Tom  spoke  again,  and  I  felt  that  it 
was  a  lawyer,  in  full  control  of  his  nerves,  who 
questioned  me.  "  Did  I  look — ah — dazed — or 
queer — when  I  went  to  the  piano,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  No,  Tom,"  I  answered,  after  a  pause.  "  You 
187 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

— you — now,  don't  think  me  flippant — you  looked 
just  as  you  do  when  you're  being  shaved." 

"  Before  all  those  people !  "  he  gasped.  "  What 
do  you  mean,  Winifred  ?  " 

"  Your  chin  was  up  in  the  air,  Tom,  and  your 
head  was  thrown  back." 

"But  you  didn't  see  any  lather?"  he  asked, 
foolishly. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Tom,"  I  cried,  petulantly.  But 
I  had  done  him  another  injustice;  he  had  not 
intended  to  be  jocose. 

"  And  then  what  did  I  do?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  And  then  you  played  that  ballade  with  the 
inspiration  of  genius  and  the  technique  of  a  mas 
ter." 

"  It  stumps  me!  "  he  muttered.  "  Winifred,  is 
there  anything  about  this  fellow  Chopin  in  the 
library?  Any  books  about  him?  " 

"  Yes,  Tom,  several ;  but  you'd  better  not  look 
at  them  to-night — if  at  all.  Perhaps  to-morrow 
you  won't  care  to." 

Tom's  heavy  features  assumed  their  most  stub- 
188 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

born  aspect.  He  stood  erect,  still  holding  my 
hand,  and  I  was  forced  to  rise. 

"  Come  with  me,  Winifred.  I'm  going  to  solve 
this  mystery  before  I  sleep,  even  if  it  takes  two 
days.  Come ! " 

Without  further  protest  I  accompanied  Tom 
to  the  library. 


189 


CHAPTER  III. 

BIOGRAPHICAL  DATA. 

And,  to  meet  us,  nectar  fountains  still 
Poured  forever  forth  their  blissful  rill  ; 
Forcibly  we  broke  the  seal  of  Things, 
And  to  Truth's  bright  sunny  hills  our  wings 
Joyously  were  soaring. 

SCHH.I,E;R. 

IT  was  a  real  relief  to  get  into  the  library. 
Tom  felt  it,  and  his  face  soon  resumed  its  nor 
mal  expression.  The  heavy  shadows  beneath  his 
eyes  remained,  but  there  had  come  a  flush  into 
his  cheeks,  and  he  carried  himself  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  a  purpose  in  life  and  is  in  a 
fair  way  to  accomplish  it.  I  remember  that  the 
idea  came  into  my  mind  that  Tom  had  assumed 
the  attitude  of  a  lawyer  who  has  been  retained 
by  the  prosecution  and  has  but  little  time  in  which 
to  prepare  his  case.  I  had  grown  tactless,  I 
190 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

fear,  in  my  change  of  mood,  for  I  was  indiscreet 
enough  to  say,  as  Tom  seated  himself  beside  the 
library-table,  leaving  it  to  me  to  find  the  books 
that  he  wished  to  consult ;  "  In  the  case  of  Wini 
fred  Remsen  and  others,  against  the  late  Frederic 
Frangois  Chopin,  charged  with  house-breaking 
and  breach  of  the  peace." 

Tom  turned  instantly,  and  a  gleam  of  anger 
flashed  in  his  eyes  as  they  met  mine.  "  If  you 
cannot  treat  this  matter  with  the  seriousness  that 
I  think  that  it  deserves,  Winifred,  you  would  do 
well  to  retire.  It's  no  joke.  When  I  make  a 
donkey  of  myself  before  a  lot  of  perfectly  respect 
able  people,  I  consider  it  a  matter  of  some  im 
portance.  You  don't  seem  to  grasp  the  full  hor 
ror  of  it  all.  I  suppose  that  I'm  liable  to  have 
another  attack  at  any  time.  In  fact,  it  may  be 
come  chronic.  I  have  of  late  come  across  very 
curious  psychical  phenomena  in  a  professional 
way,  Winifred,  and  I  insist  on  taking  every  pre 
caution  before  you  are  forced  to  place  me  in  the 
hands  of  the  alienists." 

191 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Tom ! "  I  cried,  in  horror,  and  remorse. 
"  You  musn't  talk  like  that.  There's  nothing  the 
matter  with  your  mind.  I'll  admit  that  I  can't 
explain  what  happened  to-night,  but  I'm  sure  that 
it  was  not  caused  by  any  mental  trouble  on  your 
part.  There  is  doubtless  some  very  simple  and 
commonplace  explanation  of  your — your " 

"  Call  it  seizure,"  suggested  Tom,  curtly. 
"  What  do  you  find  there?  " 

I  carried  a  little  armful  of  books  to  the  table, 
and  placed  them  within  Tom's  reach. 

"  Here's  a  '  Life  of  Chopin,'  by  Niecks,"  I  said. 
"  '  Frederic  Chopin,'  by  Franz  Liszt.  Here's  Jo 
seph  Bennett  and  Karasowski  and  the  *  Histoire 
de  ma  Vie,'  by  George  Sand.  And  here  are 
Willeby  and  Mme.  Audley.  And  I  think  I 
have " 

"  That'll  do  for  to-night,"  remarked  Tom,  seiz 
ing  the  volume  nearest  to  his  hand.  "  What  kind 
of  a  chap  was  this  Chopin,  anyway?  " 

"  He  was  simply  fascinating,"  I  remarked,  in 
discreetly. 

192 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  H'm !  "  growled  Tom,  angrily.  "  Not  very 
respectable,  I  suppose  you  mean.  George  Sand! 
She  was  a  woman,  wasn't  she?  How  did  she 
happen  to  write  his  life?  What  did  she  know 
about  him?  " 

I  have  called  Tom  a  Philistine.  Perhaps  that 
was  too  harsh  a  term  to  use,  but  I'm  sure  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  the  Puritan  about  him. 

"  She  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  him,"  I  an 
swered,  rather  lamely.  "  They  were  great  chums 
for  a  while." 

"  H'm,"  growled  Tom,  throwing  aside  George 
Sand's  work  and  opening  another.  Presently,  he 
began  to  read  biographical  scraps  aloud,  for  all 
the  world  like  an  angry  police  official  drawing  up 
a  sweeping  indictment  against  a  man  of  genius. 

"  '  The  little  Frederick  duly  received  the  name 
of  Frederic  Frangois,  after  the  son  of  Count  Shar- 
bek,  who  stood  as  his  godfather,'  "  began  Tom. 
"  '  We  are  told  that  he  very  soon  showed  a  great 
susceptibility  to  musical  sounds,  although  hardly 
in  the  direction  which  we  should  have  expected, 
13  193 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

for  he  howled  lustily  whenever  he  heard 
them.' " 

Tom  looked  up  from  the  printed  page,  and  our 
eyes  met. 

"  That's  a  curious  coincidence,  Winifred,"  he 
remarked,  musingly.  "  It's  a  family  tradition 
that  I  used  to  yell  like  a  young  Indian  whenever 
they  tried  to  sing  to  me  in  my  babyhood.  A 
rattle-box  would  quiet  me,  but  the  sweetest  lul 
laby  always  made  me  howl.  But  I  must  get  on. 
Chopin  began  well,  didn't  he  ?  " 

There  was  silence  for  a  time  as  Tom  feverishly 
scanned  the  pages  of  his  book. 

"  The  dickens !  Listen  to  this !  "  he  exclaimed, 
presently.  "  '  During  his  ninth  year  he  was  in 
vited  to  assist  at  a  concert  for  the  benefit  of  the 
poor.  He  played  a  pianoforte  concerto,  the  com 
position  of  Adalbert  Gyrowetz,  a  famous  com 
poser  of  the  time.' ' 

Tom  placed  the  book  on  the  table,  and  held  the 
pages  open  with  his  hand  as  he  glanced  at  me 
over  his  shoulder.  "  If  he  played  that  kind  of 
194 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

thing  at  nine  years  of  age,  Winifred,  there  was 
something  uncanny  about  it.  It  was  just  as  un 
natural  as  what  happened  to  me  to-night.  I'm 
beginning  to  formulate  a  theory  about  this  kind 
of  thing,  my  dear."  Tom  placed  the  open  book 
face  downward,  and  turned  squarely  toward  me. 
"  Music,  you  see,  may  be,  like  electricity,  impris 
oned,  as  it  were,  in  a  universe  of  both  conductors 
and  non-conductors.  It  may  be  that  a  temper 
ament,  like  mine  for  instance,  that  is  perma 
nently  a  non-conductor  might,  under  given  con 
ditions  become  temporarily  a  conductor.  Chopin 
played  like  a  master  at  nine  years  of  age.  He  had 
become  a  conductor,  and  remained  so  permanent 
ly.  When  he  howled  at  music  as  a  baby  he  was 
still  a  non-conductor — just  as  I  had  been  up  to 
to-night — or  rather  last  night.  Possibly,  the  con 
ditions  that  made  me  a  kind  of  spasmodic  music- 
box,  with  the  Chopin  peg  pulled  out,  may  never 
occur  again.  What  do  you  think,  Winifred? 
Doesn't  all  that  sound  reasonable?  " 

Before  I  could  formulate  a  sensible  answer  to 
195 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

a  not  very  sensible  proposition  Tom  had  resumed 
the  perusal  of  his  book.  He  appeared  to  me  like 
a  man  fascinated  against  his  will  by  a  line  of  in 
vestigation  that  he  had  begun  as  a  disagreeable 
duty.  But  I  was  glad  to  see  that  he  had  regained 
full  control  of  himself,  and  that  his  countenance 
no  longer  displayed  traces  of  intense  mental  dis 
quietude. 

"  He  was  a  pretty  lively  boy,"  remarked  Tom, 
a  few  moments  later.  "  Listen,  Winifred !  '  At 
school,  Frederic  was  a  prime  favorite,  and  was 
always  in  the  midst  of  any  fun  or  mischief  that 
was  going  on.  His  talent  for  mimicry  was  al 
ways  extraordinary,  and  has  been  commented  on 
not  only  by  George  Sand  and  Liszt  but  by  Bal 
zac.'  " 

Tom  gazed  at  me,  musingly.  "  Do  you  consider 
that  significant,  my  dear?  "  he  asked,  with  a  ser 
iousness  that  struck  me  as  both  ludicrous  and 
pathetic.  I  was  getting  worried  by  Tom's  per 
sistence  in  this  futile  line  of  endeavor. 

"  It's  nearly  three  o'clock,  Tom  Remsen,"  I 
196 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

cried,  standing  erect.  "  Come  up-stairs  at  once. 
It  won't  be  fair  to  your  clients  for  you  to  get  to 
your  office  fagged  out  for  lack  of  sleep." 

"  Sit  down,  Winifred,"  he  said,  peremptorily. 
"  It's  little  use  I'll  be  to  my  clients  until  I  find 
out  what  happened  to  me  in  the  music-room. 
Suppose  that  I  should  have  an  attack  of — what 
shall  I  call  it? — Chopinitis — in  the  court-room? 
I  should  suddenly  begin  to  sing — or  perhaps 
whistle  a — what-d'you-call'em  ? — pianoforte  con 
certo — what  would  the  judge  say?  I'd  be 
disbarred,  Winifred,  for  indecent  exposure  of 
musical  genius.  No;  I'm  going  to  find  out  more 
about  this  strange  affair — here  and  now." 

I  was  forced  to  reseat  myself,  protesting  silent 
ly  against  Tom's  absurd  stubbornness.  I  endeav 
ored  in  vain  to  shake  off  a  feeling  of  uneasiness 
that  was  creeping  over  me,  a  sensation  that  was 
closely  akin  to  fear  of  the  phlegmatic  man  who 
sat  before  me  motionless  and  calm,  pursuing  a 
course  of  study  that  had  been  inspired  by  a  most 
untenable  supposition.  What  had  Chopin  to  do 
197 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

with  the  matter?  What  difference  could  it  make 
to  Tom  whether  the  latter  had  been  one  kind  of 
man  or  another  ?  It  was  ridiculous  to  assert  that 
in  Chopin's  personality  might  be  found  an  ex 
planation  of  the  curious  incident  that  had  made 
my  musical  so  memorable.  My  prejudice  against 
Spiritualists,  Christian  Scientists,  Theosophists 
and  other  eccentrics  had  been,  I  had  believed, 
shared  by  my  husband.  But  there  he  sat  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  trying  to  find  among  the 
biographical  data  before  him  some  explanation  of 
his  recent  "  seizure,"  that  must,  of  necessity,  lean 
toward  the  occult.  That  a  well-balanced,  rather 
materialistic  lawyer,  whose  mental  methods  were 
habitually  logical,  should  suddenly  begin  to  dab 
ble  in  psychical  mysteries  in  this  way  frightened 
me  the  more  the  longer  I  weighed  Tom's  words 
and  actions  in  all  their  bearings.  Nevertheless, 
I  was  forced  to  admit  to  myself  that  he  had  never 
looked  saner  in  his  life  than  he  did  at  that  mo 
ment,  as  he  turned  from  his  book  again  and  gazed 
straight  into  my  tired  eyes. 
198 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  He  was  a  very  flirtatious  chap,  Winifred,  and 
very  fickle.  Listen  to  this :  '  Although  of  a  pecul 
iarly  impressionable  and  susceptible  disposition, 
and,  as  a  not  unnatural  consequence,  more  or  less 
fickle  where  women  were  concerned,  Chopin's 
love  affairs  did,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  as 
sume  a  serious  aspect.  He  had  conceived  a  fancy 
for  the  granddaughter  of  a  celebrated  master, 
and  although  contemplating  matrimony  with  her, 
he  had  at  the  same  time  in  his  mind's  eye  another 
lady  resident  in  Poland,  his  loyalty  being  engaged 
nowhere  and  his  fickle  heart  concentrated  on  no 
one  passion.  One  day,  when  visiting  the  former 
young  lady  in  company  with  a  musician  who  was 
at  the  time  better  known  in  Paris  that  he  himself, 
she  unconsciously  offered  a  chair  to  his  companion 
first.  So  piqued  was  he  at  what  he  considered 
a  slight  that  he  not  only  never  called  on  her  again, 
but  dismissed  her  entirely  from  his  thoughts.' 
Do  you  begin  to  see,  Winifred,  what  a  queer  fel 
low  he  was?  Really,  I'm  inclined  to  think " 

I  was  standing  erect,  gazing  at  him,  angrily. 
199 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  If  you  are  joking,  Tom,"  I  exclaimed,  having 
lost  all  patience,  "  I  think  you  are  displaying  most 
wretched  taste.  If  you  are  really  in  earnest,  I 
am  very  sorry  for  you.  I'm  going  to  bed.  I  hope 
I'll  find  you  fully  recovered  at  breakfast." 

He  did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  impressed  by 
my  exhibition  of  temper. 

"  Wait  just  a  moment,  Winifred,"  he  sug 
gested,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  book.  "  Here  it  is 
about  George  Sand — their  first  meeting,  you 
know.  Wait !  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

"  I  shall  not  wait,  Tom  Remsen,"  I  cried. 
"  Chopin's  love  affairs  are  nothing  to  me — and 
they  should  be  nothing  to  you.  Good  night. 
This  is  my  last  word.  Good  night." 

As  I  reached  the  door,  I  glanced  over  my  shoul 
der.  Tom  seemed  to  have  forgotten  my  exist 
ence.  He  had  plunged  again  into  the  dust-heap 
of  an  old  scandal  that  seemed  to  fascinate  him — 
Tom  Remsen,  who  had  hitherto  always  deprecat 
ed  and  avoided  that  kind  of  research. 


200 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SIGNORINA  MOLATTI. 

And  thou,  too — when  on  me  fell  thine  eye, 
What  disclos'd  thy  cheek's  deep-purple  dye? 

SCHILLER. 

Two  days  went  by,  and  while  I  still  pondered 
the  great  mystery  and  kept  a  close  watch  on  Tom, 
I  had  begun  to  hope  that  the  exactions  of  his 
profession  had  led  him  to  abandon  his  effort  to 
explain  what  he  had  called  his  "  seizure."  He 
had  been  busy  of  late  with  the  technicalities  in 
volved  in  the  formation  of  a  new  trust,  and  his 
mind  seemed  to  be  wholly  engrossed  by  this  gi 
gantic  task.  By  tacit  consent  we  had  both 
avoided  all  reference  to  my  recent  musical  and  its 
weird  and  inexplicable  outcome.  At  times,  I  was 
almost  inclined  to  believe  that  Tom  had  forgot 
ten  Chopin  and  all  his  works. 
201 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

As  for  myself,  I  could  not  recover  a  normal 
state  of  mind.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  felt 
an  admiration  for  the  very  characteristics  of  my 
husband's  make-up  that  hitherto  had  annoyed  and 
wearied  me.  His  ability  to  rebound  at  once  from 
the  shock  that  he  had  sustained  filled  me  with 
both  envy  and  amazement.  I  had  begun  to  realize 
that  the  mental  poise  of  an  unimpressionable,  un 
imaginative  man  is  a  very  desirable  and  praise 
worthy  possession. 

I  regretted  at  times  that  I  could  not  throw  my 
self  into  some  despotic  occupation  that  should  de 
mand  all  my  physical  and  mental  energies.  As 
yet,  I  had  not  found  the  courage  to  face  the  world 
and  its  questionings.  For  two  days,  I  had  denied 
myself  to  even  my  most  intimate  friends,  not 
excepting  Mrs.  Jack  Van  Corlear,  who  had  hur 
ried  to  me  on  the  day  succeeding  my  musical. 
I  knew  that  my  callers  were  actuated  by  a  not  un 
natural  curiosity,  and  I  lacked  the  nervous  energy 
to  face  people  who  would  politely  claim  the  right 
to  know  why  Tom  had  always  concealed  his  gen- 
202 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

ius  as  a  pianist.  I  think  I  fully  understand  the 
set  in  which  I  move.  We  dearly  love  a  new  sen 
sation.  Without  leaving  my  house  or  receiving 
a  single  visitor,  I  could  readily  grasp  the  fact  that 
the  leading  topic  of  conversation  in  society  at 
the  moment  revolved  around  Tom  Remsen  as  a 
masterly  interpreter  of  Chopin. 

Chopin !  I  had  begun  to  hate  the  name.  But 
I  had  not  been  able  to  resist  the  temptation  to 
spend  many  hours  in  the  library  poring  over  the 
books  that  dealt,  directly  or  indirectly,  with  his 
personality  and  achievements.  The  temporary 
enthusiasm  that  Tom  had  displayed  for  research 
into  the  life  of  Frederic  Chopin  bade  fair  to  be 
come  a  permanent  passion  in  my  case.  I  devoted 
whole  afternoons  to  playing,  in  my  amateurish 
way,  his  waltzes,  mazurkas,  nocturnes  and  bal 
lads.  One  of  the  latter,  his  Opus  47,  I  had  not 
the  audacity  to  attempt.  Somehow,  Tom's  recent 
rendition  of  the  piece  seemed  to  stand  as  a  bar 
rier  that  it  would  be  sacrilege  for  me  to  cross. 
Nevertheless,  I  longed  to  hear  the  ballad  again, 
203 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

and  was  almost  tempted  to  ask  Tom  to  play  it 
to  me  alone.  That  he  was  wholly  incapable  of 
repeating  his  recent  performance,  my  mind  re 
fused  to  believe.  I  had  returned,  almost  uncon 
sciously,  to  my  first  conviction,  that  my  husband 
had  wilfully  deceived  me  for  years  regarding  his 
musical  ability. 

I  sat  poring  over  an  English  criticism  of 
Chopin's  posthumous  works  late  one  afternoon 
when  a  card  was  brought  to  me  in  the  library  that 
tempted  me  to  come  out  of  my  self-imposed  re 
treat.  It  bore  the  name : 

SlGNORINA  MOLATTI. 

In  the  half-light  of  the  drawing-room,  the  girl 
looked  handsomer  than  in  the  glare  of  evening 
lamps.  Her  dark,  oriental  beauty  was  at  its  best 
in  the  subdued  glow  of  early  twilight.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  rich  but  quiet  Parisian  costume,  and 
I  felt  that  her  attractiveness  increased  the  fur 
ther  she  was  removed  from  Signer  Turino,  Mile. 
204 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

Vanoni  and  the  other  noted  artists  with  whom 
she  associated.  Nevertheless,  I  realized  that  my 
manner  was  cold  and  unsympathetic  as  we  seated 
ourselves  and  I  awaited  her  pleasure.  Having 
had  business  dealings  with  the  signorina  I  was 
not  willing  to  admit  that  she  could  assume  the 
right  to  call  on  me  as  a  social  equal. 

But  patrician  blood  must  have  flowed  in  Mo- 
latti's  veins,  for  she  sat  there  silent  and  calm, 
and  my  skirmish  line  was  driven  back.  I  spoke 
first.  The  self-confidence  in  the  girl's  smile  hurt 
me. 

"  It  is  a  pleasure,  signorina,  to  have  an  oppor 
tunity  I  had  not  hoped  for,  to  thank  you  again 
for  the  great  pleasure  you  afforded  my  guests  the 
night  before  last." 

"  But  it  is  me,  signora,  who  is  in  the  debt  of 
you,"  said  Molatti,  in  her  soft,  musical,  broken 
English.  "  I  hava  coma  to  you  to  thanka  you 
and  to  ask  a  leetle  favor.  Signer  Remsen!  oh, 
eet  was  so  wonderful — so  vera  wonderful!  I 
hava  waited  all  my  leetle  life  for  eet." 
205 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

•*"** 

I  stared  at  the  girl  in  astonishment.  Her  en 
thusiasm,  her  gestures,  the  brilliant  glow  in  her 
dark  eyes  offended  me.  And  "  eet !  "  What  was 
"  eet,"  for  which  she  had  waited  all  her  life  ?  " 

"  Yes?  "  I  remarked,  interrogatively.  Her  fer 
vor  was  not  cooled  by  the  iced  water  of  my 
question  mark. 

"  Leesten  to  me,  signora.  I  hava  worsheeped 
Chopin  since  I  was  a  leetle  girl.  I  have  heard 
alia  the  great  interpretaires  of  the  maestro.  But 
I  have  nevaire  heard  Chopin.  In  my  dreams — si, 
signora,  but  nevaire  in  my  hours  that  are  awake. 
But  I  cama  here!  Signer  Remsen — he  playa 
Chopin!  Eet  was  no  dream.  Eet  was  the  soul 
of  the  maestro  speaking  to  the  soul  of  me.  Eet 
was  wonderful — so  vera  wonderful !  " 

Conflicting  emotions  warred  within  me.  I 
hardly  dared  speak  lest  I  should  either  laugh  or 
cry  hysterically.  With  lips  compressed  I  sat  mo 
tionless,  staring  at  the  girl,  into  whose  eloquent 
eyes  there  had  come  a  pleading  look  that  sug 
gested  tears. 

206 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  Signer  Remsen,"  she  murmured,  presently, 
like  a  devotee  who  breathes  the  name  of  an  idol 
— "  do  you  thinka,  signora,  that  he  would  let  me 
hear  him  play  again  ?  Peety  me,  signora !  I  can 
not  sleep.  I  cannot  eat.  I  crave  only  the  music 
of  the  maestro — music  that  I  hava  heard  only 
once  in  my  leetle  life.  Signer  Remsen!  Eef  he 
would  permeet  me — justa  once — to  accompany 
him  on  my  leetle  violin — oh,  signora,  I  coulcta 
then  die  happy.  I  should  hava  leeved  just  a  leetle 
while,  and  then  I  would  not  care.  But  now,  I 
am  so  unhappy — so  vera  miserable !  " 

I  was  too  nervous  to  stand  this  kind  of  thing 
any  longer.  I  rose,  and  Molatti  faced  me,  erect 
at  once. 

"  You  pay  my  husband's  talent  a  great  com 
pliment,  signorina,"  I  said,  coldly ;  "  but  I  cannot 
take  it  on  myself  to  answer  you  in  his  name. 
However,  I  shall  present  your  request  to  him  and 
let  you  know  at  once  what  he  says."  A  dia 
bolical  impulse  came  over  me,  and  I  added :  "  Of 
course,  Mr.  Remsen  would  not  wish  you  to 
207 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

starve,  signorina,  nor  to  die  a  horrible  death  from 
insomnia." 

The  girl  spiked  my  guns — if  that  be  the  right 
expression —  by  a  merry,  musical  laugh. 

"  You  are  so  vera  kind !  "  she  cried.  "  I  kissa 
your  lovely  hand." 

Before  I  could  prevent  it  she  had  touched  my 
outstretched  hand  with  her  red,  smiling  lips ;  then 
she  took  her  departure.  I  returned  to  the  library 
in  a  condition  that  verged  dangerously  on  com 
plete  nervous  collapse. 

At  dinner  that  evening,  Tom  was  unwontedly 
silent.  As  I  glanced  at  him  over  my  soup  there 
was  something  in  his  face  that  suggested  thoughts 
not  connected  with  the  Pepper  and  Salt  Trust. 
I  was  soon  to  become  accustomed  to  this  expres 
sion  and  to  identify  it  in  my  mind  as  "  Chopin- 
esque." 

"  Aren't  you  feeling  well  to-night,  Tom  ?  "  I 
ventured  presently,  noting  that  he  was  drinking 
more  wine  than  usual. 

208 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  A  bit  tired,  Winifred,"  he  answered,  absent 
ly.  Then  his  eyes  met  mine,  and  I  saw  that  he 
was  worried.  I  had  planned  to  fulfill  conscien 
tiously  my  promise  to  Signorina  Molatti,  but  the 
time  seemed  inopportune.  I  was  glad,  presently, 
that  I  had  refrained  from  mentioning  my  caller 
and  her  mission.  As  we  were  sipping  our  coffee 
Tom  tossed  an  envelope  across  the  table  to  me. 

I  opened  it  with  a  chill  misgiving.  It  ran  as 
follows : 

MR.  THOMAS  REMSEN. 

DEAR  SIR  :  As  it  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of 
the  Executive  Committee  of  the  Chopin  Society 
of  New  York  that  your  rendition  of  the  works 
of  our  master  is  unexcelled  by  any  living  per 
former,  we  humbly  beg  of  you  to  accept  the  hospi 
tality  of  our  association  at  an  early  date,  to  be 
chosen  by  you.  Our  members  and  their  guests 
would  consider  it  the  highest  of  privileges  could 
they  be  permitted  to  hear  you  play  such  selections 
from  Chopin  as  you  might  wish  to  perform. 
Thanking  you  in  advance  for  the  great  joy  that 
14  209 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

you  will  vouchsafe  to  us  by  accepting  this  invita 
tion,  we  remain,  etc. 


There  lay  a  wan  smile  on  Tom's  face  as  he  met 
my  gaze.  "Kind,  aren't  they?"  he  muttered. 
"What  the  deuce'll  I  write  to  'em,  Winifred?" 

"  You  can't  accept,  of  course,"  I  said,  confi 
dently.  Then  I  hesitated,  surprised  at  the  queer 
gleam  in  Tom's  eyes.  "Can  you?"  I  added, 
weakly. 

"  I  can,  I  suppose,"  he  remarked,  with  an  effort 
at  playfulness.  "  There's  no  law  against  it." 

His  answer  struck  me  as  strangely  unlike  him. 
If  he  had  cried,  "  The  Chopin  Society  be 
damned !  "  I  should  have  felt  more  at  ease,  less 
oppressed  by  a  sensation  of  nameless  dread. 
There  was  something  distinctly  uncanny  in  Tom's 
manner. 

"  It  would  be  a  good  joke  on  'em,  wouldn't  it, 
if  I  should  accept  their  bid?  "  he  remarked  as  he 
lighted  his  cigar.     "Confound  their  impudence! 
That's  what  they  deserve." 
210 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  But — but — Tom,  would  you  try  to — to 
play?  "  I  gasped,  in  dismay. 

Tom  laughed  in  a  way  that  shocked  my  over 
wrought  nerves.  It  was  a  shrill,  unnatural  note 
of  merriment,  that  struck  me  as  diabolical. 
"  Play?  "  he  repeated,  sardonically.  "  Why  not? 
Do  you  imagine,  madame,  that  the  marvelous  gen 
ius  of  Thomas  Remsen,  interpreter  of  Frederic 
Frangois  Chopin,  is  to  be  confined  strictly  to  your 
musicals  ?  That  would  be  a  gross  injustice  to  the 
music-loving  world,  would  it  not  ?  But  come  into 
the  library  with  me,  Winifred.  I  must  resume  my 
studies  as  a  student  of  '  the  master.' ' 

I  followed  Tom  mechanically,  fascinated  by  his 
gruesome  mood.  For  the  life  of  me  I  couldn't 
tell  whether  he  was  joking  or  in  earnest,  whether 
it  was  his  mind  or  mine  that  had  lost  its  poise. 


211 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  POLISH  FANTASIA. 


Ah,  sure,  as  Hindoo  legends  tell, 
When  music's  tones  the  bosom  swell 
The  scenes  of  former  life  return. 

DR.  LEYDEN. 


I  MADE  a  clean  breast  of  the  whole  matter  to 
Mrs.  Jack  Van  Corlear  the  next  morning.  I  had 
sent  for  her  early  in  the  day,  saying  that  I  was 
in  trouble  and  needed  advice,  and  she  came  to  me 
at  once.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  me  just  to  look 
into  her  eyes  and  hold  her  hand. 

"  It's  about  Tom ! "  she  remarked,sagely. 
"  Has  he  done  it  again?  '' 

Her  question  made  me  realize  fully  the  awk 
wardness  of  my  position.  Close  as  our  friend 
ship  had  been,  I  had  never  gossipped  about  Tom 

212 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

to  Mrs.  Jack.  If  there  is  anything  more  vulgar 
than  what  Tom  had  once  called  "  extra-marital 
confidences  between  women,"  I  don't  know  what 
it  is.  But  I  was  forced  to  talk  about  my  hus 
band's  increasing  eccentricity  to  somebody,  or  en 
danger  my  own  mental  health.  I  knew  that  I 
should  derive  temporary  nervous  restoration  from 
a  heart-to-heart  confab  with  a  woman  who  has 
the  reputation  of  being  "  a  mighty  good  fellow." 
I  have  heard  people  complain  that  Mrs.  Jack  was 
"  too  horsey  "  for  their  taste.  But  if  you  are 
seeking  a  friend  who  shall  possess  courage,  reti 
cence  and  common  sense,  pick  out  a  woman  that 
rides.  A  fondness  for  horses  seems  to  enlarge 
a  woman's  sympathies,  while  at  the  same  time  it 
increases  her  discretion. 

"  He  has  not  actually  done  it  again,  my  dear," 
I  answered ;  "  but  he  threatens  to.  He  informed 
me  at  breakfast  this  morning  that  he  intended  to 
accept  the  invitation  of  the  Chopin  Society.  Fur 
thermore,  he  said  he  was  going  to  send  the  society 
a  cheque  for  their  Chopin  Monument  Fund." 
213 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Tom's  a  thoroughbred,  isn't  he?  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Jack,  with  what  struck  me  as  ill-timed  en 
thusiasm.  "  But  tell  me  more  about  Signorina 
Molatti.  Did  you  keep  your  promise  to  her?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  told  him  this  morning  about  her  call. 
Do  you  know,  he  seemed  to  be  actually  pleased. 
It  wasn't  like  Tom  at  all.  Young  women  always 
bore  him.  And  he  has  a  special  abhorrence  for 
people  connected  in  any  way  with  the  stage." 

"  Now,  Winifred,  tell  me  honestly :  Has  Tom 
never  played  a  note  in  all  the  twelve  years  that 
you  have  known  him  ?  " 

"  Never !  never !  never !  "  I  cried,  hotly.  It  was 
so  hard  to  make  even  Mrs.  Jack,  who  fully  under 
stands  me,  get  at  my  point  of  view. 

"  And  he  wins  a  big  handicap  the  first  time  he 
starts,"  mused  my  confidante.  "  It's  miraculous! 
Is  there  a  strain  of  music  in  his  blood,  my  dear? 
Any  of  the  Remsens  gifted  that  way  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  ever  heard  of,"  I  answered,  rather 
petulantly.    Mrs.  Jack's  surmises  seemed  to  be  as 
unsatisfactory  as  my  own  solitary  musings. 
214 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  Is  he  going  to  play  for  Molatti  ?  "  she  asked, 
presently. 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks  as  I  realized 
that  this  was  the  keynote  to  the  whole  conversa 
tion.  "  He  says  he  is,"  I  confessed,  reluctantly. 
"  You  may  not  believe  it,  but  he  actually  joked 
about  it;  said  that  it  would  be  cruel  on  his  part 
to  withhold  from  '  a  worthy  young  woman  ' — 
what  an  expression ! — a  pleasure  that  might  re 
store  her  appetite  and  sleep." 

Mrs.  Jack  laughed  aloud,  despite  the  frown 
on  my  brow.  "  Give  him  the  bit,  my  dear,"  she 
advised,  playfully.  "  You  aren't  afraid  of  a  little 
black  filly  over  a  distance,  are  you  ?  But  tell  me, 
what  does  Tom  say  about  it  all  ?  You  tell  me  that 
he  speaks  of  his  recent  rendition  of  the  Chopin 
ballad  as  '  a  seizure.' ' 

"  For  nearly  two  days,  my  dear,  I  fondly  imag 
ined  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  He  didn't 
speak  of  it.  But  last  night  he  went  into  the 
library  and  recommenced  his  researches  into  the 
life  of  Chopin.  I  couldn't  help  laughing  at  some 

215 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

of  the  comments  he  made,  but  he  was  in  dead 
earnest  all  the  time.  I  am  forced  to  believe  Tom 
really  thinks  he  is — it  seems  so  absurd  when  one 
puts  it  into  words — thinks  he  is  haunted  by 
Chopin's  spirit,  or  something  of  that  kind." 

Mrs.  Jack's  mood  changed  and  the  merriment 
in  her  face  disappeared.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  re 
marked,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  sometimes  inclined 
to  think  that  we  are  awfully  ignorant  about  some 
things.  I  have  heard  of  so  many  queer  occurences 
of  an  uncanny  nature  lately — and  among  the  very 
nicest  kind  of  people,  too.  And  it  used  to  be  really 
good  form  to  have  a  family  ghost,  you  know. 
Perhaps  it's  coming  in  again.  Old  fashions  have 
a  way  of  cropping  up  again,  haven't  they  ?  " 

I  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  at  Mrs.  Jack's 
peculiar  attitude  toward  psychical  mysteries. 
However,  I  refused  to  be  led  into  generalities. 
"  But  just  look  at  the  ludicrousness  of  the  idea," 
I  began.  "  Admitting,  my  dear,  that  Chopin's 
soul  has  grown  uneasy  and  desires  a  temporary 
reincarnation,  would  he  be  likely  to  select  Tom 
216 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

as  a — what  shall  I  call  it? — medium?  Wouldn't 
he  be  more  inclined  to  haunt  a  man  who  was  nat 
urally  musical,  or  at  least  loved  music  ?  But  you 
know,  Mrs.  Jack,  what  Tom  is.  He  hasn't  the 
slightest  liking  for  music  of  any  kind.  Unless  he 
has  been  a  great  actor  for  many  years,  never  for 
an  instant  forgetting  his  role,  I'm  sure  of  this." 

"  What  can  we  know  about  the  methods  or 
longings  of  a  disembodied  spirit  ?  "  argued  my 
confidante,  logically  enough.  "  Perhaps  Chopin 
was  backing  a  long  shot,  just  for  the  excitement 
of  the  thing." 

I  glanced  at  Mrs.  Jack,  half-angrily.  I  thought 
for  a  moment  that  she  was  inclined  to  poke  fun 
at  me.  But  her  face  was  as  serious  as  mine,  and 
I  repented  quickly  of  my  unjust  suspicion. 

And  thus  we  talked  in  a  circle  for  an  hour  or 
more.  Mrs.  Jack  lunched  with  me,  and  finally 
persuaded  me  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  her, 
driving  along  the  river  side.  As  we  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  house  about  five  o'clock,  I  turned  to 
her  with  gratitude  in  my  heart  and  eyes  and  voice. 
217 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Thank  you  so  much,  my  dear,"  I  said,  grate 
fully.  "  I'll  come  to  you  in  the  morning  if  there 
are  any  new  developments  in  the  case."  I  had 
turned  away  when  Mrs.  Jack  called  me  back. 

"  It's  a  problem  that  you  and  I  can't  solve, 
little  woman,"  she  said,  affectionately.  "  If  he 
has  another  attack,  or  any  new  symptoms  develop, 
what  would  you  think  of  consulting  a  specialist? 
I'd  go  with  you,  of  course.  'We  needn't  give  out 
names,  you  know." 

"A  specialist — in  what?"  I  asked,  trying  to 
repress  a  feeling  of  annoyance  that  I  must  con 
ceal  from  a  friend  who  had  been  all  kindness  to 
me  at  a  crisis. 

"  Think  it  over,"  returned  Mrs.  Jack,  vaguely. 
"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  is  an  authority  on — 
what  did  Tom  call  it — Chopinitis.  But  come  to 
me  in  the  morning,  anyway;  I  may  have  some 
thing  really  practical  to  suggest.  And  don't  touch 
him  with  the  whip!  Tom's  a  thoroughbred,  you 
know,  my  dear.  Good-bye !  " 

As  I  entered  the  hall,  depressed  by  a  quick  reac- 
218 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

tion  from  my  recent  cheerfulness,  I  was  roused 
from  my  self-absorption  by  a  revelation  that  drove 
the  blood  to  my  head  and  made  me  dizzy  for  a  mo 
ment.  From  the  music-room,  always  unoccupied 
at  this  hour  of  the  day,  came  the  weird,  searching 
harmonies  of  a  Polish  fantasia  arranged  for  the 
piano  and  violin.  The  effect  was  marvelous. 
Softened  by  distance,  the  perfect  accord  of  the 
two  instruments  bore  testimony  to  the  complete 
sympathy  that  existed  between  the  pianist  and  the 
wielder  of  the  bow.  There  was  something  in  this 
half-barbaric  music  that  set  my  veins  on  fire. 
Hardly  knowing  what  I  did  and  with  no  thought 
of  what  I  intended  to  do,  I  crossed  the  drawing- 
room  quickly  and  noiselessly,  and  stood  motion 
less  at  the  entrance  to  the  music-room. 

I  remember  now  that  I  felt  no  sensation  of 
astonishment  at  what  I  saw.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  the  picture  before  my  eyes  was  just  what  I 
had  come  from  a  remote  distance  to  gaze  upon. 

Tom  was  seated  at  the  piano,  his  back  toward 
me.  Beside  him  stood  Signorina  Molatti,  her 
219 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Cremona  resting  against  her  shoulder.  They  had 
not  heard  my  footsteps,  and  I  realized  that  if  I 
had  yelled  like  a  wild  Indian  they  would  not 
have  come  to  earth.  They  played  like  creatures 
in  a  trance,  and  I  felt  the  strange,  seductive  hyp 
notism  of  the  mad,  sweet,  feverish  music  that 
they  made,  as  I  stood  there  voiceless,  motionless, 
helpless,  hopeless.  Vainly  I  appealed  to  my  pride. 
Vainly  I  strove  to  act  as  one  worthy  of  the  name 
of  mondaine.  The  shock  had  been  too  sudden, 
too  severe,  and  I  could  not  trust  myself. 

As  silently  as  I  had  come,  I  crept  away.  Re- 
crossing  the  drawing-room,  I  encountered  the 
butler  in  the  hall.  My  face  flushed  with  shame 
as  I  said  to  him : 

"  If  Mr.  Remsen  asks  for  me,  James,  say  that 
I  have  not  returned." 

Then  I  stumbled  up-stairs  to  my  rooms,  dis 
missed  my  maid  curtly,  and  gave  way  like  a  fool 
ish  girl  to  foolish  tears. 


220 


"They  played  like  creatures  in  a  trance.    .    . 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CONSULTING  A  SPECIALIST. 

An  angel  is  too  fine  a  thing 

To  sit  behind  my  chair  and  sing 

And  cheer  my  passing  day. 

EDMUND  E.  GOSSE. 

"  BUT,  madam,  the  symptoms,  in  so  far  as  I 
can  gather  them,  are  insufficient  for  an  accurate 
diagnosis.  You  have  stated  the  case  clearly  and 
in  minute  detail,  but  my  experience  in  the  new 
school  of  medicine — if  such  it  can  be  called — con 
vinces  me  that  you  have  inadvertently  omitted 
some  significant  factor  in  the  premises,  without 
which  I  can  vouchsafe  to  you  nothing  more  valu 
able  than  sweeping  generalities.  In  other  words, 
you  have  given  me  an  opportunity  to  lay  before 
you  a  theory,  but  no  chance  to  suggest  to  you 
a  practical  line  of  action." 

221 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I  looked  helplessly  at  Mrs.  Van  Corlear  and 
saw  that  she  was  scanning  Dr.  Emerson  Wood 
ruff's  strong,  thoughtful  face  attentively.  Pres 
ently,  she  glanced  at  me,  as  if  asking  my  permis 
sion  to  speak,  and  I  nodded  to  her  in  acquiescence. 

"  We  have  told  you,  doctor,"  began  Mrs.  Jack, 
"  that  this — ah — friend  of  ours  plays  nothing  but 
Chopin.  That's  important,  of  course?  " 

"  Exceedingly,"  remarked  Dr.  Woodruff,  im 
pressively,  his  hands  folded  across  his  chest  and 
his  head  bent  forward.  Even  at  that  critical  mo 
ment,  I  found  myself  wondering  if  all  practi 
tioners  of  the  anti-materialistic  school  were  large, 
dignified,  magnetic  men,  with  majestic  brows  and 
bright,  searching  eyes. 

"  But  he's  not  always  a  soloist,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Jack,  in  a  low  but  vibrant  tone;  "  he  has  shown 
an  inclination  of  late  to  travel  in  double  harness 
— piano  and  violin,  you  know." 

An  enigmatical  smile  came  into  Dr.  Wood 
ruff's  face  for  an  instant.  The  man's  intuition 
was  so  quick  and  keen  that  I  had  begun  to  fear 

222 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

I  should  find  it  difficult  to  maintain  my  incog 
nita. 

"  You  say,"  he  asked,  presently,  turning  to 
ward  me,  "  that  his  general  health  remains  good  ? 
He  has  no  tendency  towards  melancholia;  doesn't 
grow  flighty  at  times  in  his  talk  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  seen  him  look  so  well  as  he 
does  at  present,"  I  answered,  wearily.  I  had 
come  to  Dr.  Woodruff  against  my  will,  succumb 
ing  weakly  to  Mrs.  Jack's  insistence.  And  now 
the  whole  affair  appeared  ridiculous  and  the  doc 
tor's  questions  irrelevant  and  futile.  My  interest 
in  the  seance — if  that  is  the  word  for  it — was 
reawakened,  however,  by  the  physician's  next 
question. 

"  Who  plays  the  violin  for  him  ?  "  he  asked, 
curtly. 

Mrs.  Jack  answered  him  at  once.  "  Signorina 
Molatti.  You  know  her  by  reputation?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered ;  "  I  have  heard  her  play. 
She  has  a  touch  of  genius.  They  must  make 
great  music  together — Molatti  and  your  friend." 
223 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

A  lump  came  into  my  throat  and  I  clutched  the 
arms  of  my  chair  awkwardly.  That  Dr.  Wood 
ruff  had  noticed  my  emotion,  I  felt  sure. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  explanation  of  all  this, 
doctor?  "  I  asked,  impatiently.  I  was  thoroughly 
out  of  harmony  with  myself,  Mrs.  Jack  and  the 
physician,  and  my  pride  revolted  at  the  false  posi 
tion  in  which  I  had  been  placed.  A  skeptic  who 
goes  to  a  clergyman  for  guidance  sacrifices  both 
his  logic  and  his  dignity.  Here  I  sat  in  Dr.  Emer 
son  Woodruff's  office,  under  an  assumed  name, 
telling  a  stranger  weird  tales  about  a  suppositi 
tious  acquaintance  who  was  in  reality  my  own 
husband.  Had  I  not  been  unfair  to  Tom,  Dr. 
Woodruff  and  myself?  Surely  the  road  to  truth 
is  not  through  a  zigzag  lane  of  lies ! 

"  My  dear  madam,"  began  the  doctor,  in  his 
most  pompous  manner,  "  the  case  as  you  have 
stated  it  is  unique  in  the  annals  of  what  I  take 
the  liberty  to  call  the  new  science — new,  that  is, 
to  the  Western  world.  To  the  brooding  East, 
the  introspective,  sapient,  miracle-working  Orient, 
224 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

there  would  be  nothing  strange  or  inexplicable  in 
what  your — er — friend  calls  his  '  seizure.'  I  have 
seen  in  India  phenomena  that,  should  I  describe 
them  to  you,  would  wholly  destroy  what  little 
confidence  you  have  in  my  veracity  and  common 
sense.  May  I  ask  why  you  have  come  to  me, 
madam?  You  have  no  faith  in  the  school  to 
which  I  am  devoted." 

His  voice  had  grown  suddenly  stern,  and  I 
avoided  his  gaze  in  confusion.  The  ease  with 
which  he  had  read  my  thoughts  offended  and 
frightened  me. 

"It's  my  fault,  Dr.  Woodruff,"  cried  Mrs. 
Jack,  loyally ;  "  I  persuaded  her  to  come.  I  have 
been  over  the  jumps  before,  and  I  rather  like  the 
course.  But  it's  pretty  stiff  going  at  first,  you 
must  acknowledge." 

To  my  surprise,  Dr.  Woodruff  laughed  aloud. 
His  merriment  restored  my  equilibrium,  and  I 
hastened  to  explain. 

'*  Won't  you  believe  me,  doctor,  when  I  say  that 
I  have  not  come  to  you  in  an  antagonistic  mood  ? 
15  225 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I  am  intensely  interested  in  the  problem  we  have 
laid  before  you — and  I  feel  sure  you  can  help  us  to 
read  the  riddle.  We  have  a  friend  who  has  no 
music  in  his  soul.  Suddenly,  he  begins  to  play 
Chopin  like  a  master.  Then  he  develops  a  fond 
ness  for  duets.  We  fear  the  future.  Presently,  he 
will  begin  to  neglect  his  business  and  his — and — " 

"  And  his  wife,"  added  the  doctor,  glancing  at 
me,  quizzically.  Then  he  turned  sharply  toward 
Mrs.  Jack.  "  Is  this  man  fond  of  horses?  Does 
he  ride?" 

"  Before  he  became  so  completely  absorbed  in 
his  profession  he  was  a  marvel  over  timber,"  she 
answered,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I  remember — " 
she  began,  reminiscently. 

"  Never  mind  ancient  history,"  I  cried,  rather 
rudely.  "  I  really  can't  see,  Dr.  Woodruff,  what 
his  cross-country  skill  has  to  do  with  his  Chopin 
seizure." 

"  As  I  understand  it,  madam,"  explained  the 
physician,  evidently  hurt  by  my  petulance,  "  as 
I  understand  it,  you  are  desirious  of  turn- 
226 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

ing  your — ah — friend's  mind  from  music.  You 
tell  me  that  his  professional  duties  have  had  no 
effect  in  this  connection.  To  use  an  expression 
that  is  not  often  employed  by  psychologists,  a 
counter-irritant  is  what  I  had  in  mind.  It  is  not 
strictly  scientific  to  prescribe  a  remedy  before  the 
diagnosis  is  completed,  but,  as  I  gather  from  your 
words,  you  wish  to  attempt  a  cure  at  once." 

I  am  sure  there  flashed  a  gleam  of  suspicion, 
not  unmingled  with  contempt,  from  my  eyes  as 
I  scanned  the  doctor's  face.  Surely,  it  was  absurd 
to  suppose  that  if  Tom  was  really  the  victim  of 
some  supernatural  manifestation  he  could  be  re 
stored  to  a  normal  condition  by  a  resumption  of 
his  equestrian  enthusiasm.  Futhermore,  what 
was  I  to  gain  by  the  line  of  treatment  that  this 
psychological  poseur  seemed  to  have  in  mind? 
Was  it  not  just  as  well  for  my  peace  of  mind 
to  have  Tom  playing  duets  with  Signorina  Mo- 
latti  as  chasing  an  anise-seed  bag  across  fields 
and  ditches  in  company  with  Mrs.  Jack  Van  Cor- 
lear  or  some  other  horsey  woman? 
227 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Do  you  think  he  has  been  hypnotized  by 
Signorina  Molatti  ?  "  I  asked,  bluntly,  anxious  to 
pin  the  physician  down  to  some  explanation  of 
Tom's  eccentricities  that  should  not  offend  against 
probability. 

"  Admitting  the  possibility  of  hypnotism  in  this 
instance,"  answered  Dr.  Woodruff,  gravely,  "  it 
would  seem  to  be  much  more  likely  that  your 
friend  had  hypnotized  Signorina  Molatti.  Do 
you  not  agree  with  me?  " 

Taking  all  the  circumstances  into  considera 
tion,  I  was  forced  to  admit  to  myself  that  his 
argument  was  sound.  But  I  could  not  imagine 
Tom  in  the  role  of  a  Svengali.  Whichever  way 
I  turned  I  was  at  the  horn  of  a  dilemma. 

"  The  fact  is,  madam,"  began  Dr.  Woodruff, 
very  seriously,  "  the  fact  is  that  your  reticence  has 
placed  me  in  a  somewhat  awkward  position. 
While  you  have  apparently  made  a  clean  breast 
of  the  whole  affair,  there  are  several  gaps  in  your 
story  that  I  must  fill  up  before  I  can  be  of  any 
great  service  to  you.  There  are  various  expla- 
228 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

nations  of  your  friend's  remarkable  outbreak  that 
naturally  suggest  themselves.  Most  people  would 
assert  at  once  that  he  had  deliberately  concealed 
his  musical  ability  for  years,  planning  to  make 
a  sensational  debut  when  occasion  served.  You 
have  rejected  this  explanation  as  inconsistent  with 
your  knowledge  of  the  man's  character.  I  accept 
your  view  of  the  matter,  and  lay  aside  as  unten 
able  the  seemingly  most  reasonable  solution  of  the 
problem.  Practically,  but  two  lines  of  conjecture 
remain  open  to  us.  Your  friend  may  have  been 
hypnotized,  may  have  become  the  plaything  of  a 
harmless  medium  who  possesses  a  sense  of  humor 
and  enjoys  a  practical  joke.  But,  I  must  admit, 
this  explanation  appears  far-fetched  and  involves 
several  very  improbable  hypotheses." 

The  doctor  paused  for  a  time  and  eyed  us  mus 
ingly.  I  felt  better  disposed  toward  him  than 
heretofore,  recognizing  the  fact  that  I  had  been 
listening  to  the  words  of  a  well-balanced,  logical 
man  who  might  tread  lofty  heights,  but  who  al 
ways  stepped  with  care.  If  Dr.  Emerson  Wood- 
229 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ruff  was  a  mystic  and  a  dreamer,  there  was  noth 
ing  in  his  outward  seeming  or  his  mental  methods 
to  indicate  it. 

"  How  many  hurdles  on  the  other  track  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Jack,  abruptly. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  the  physician,  gently ;  "  I 
didn't  catch  your  meaning." 

"  There  were  two  lines  of  conjecture  open  to 
us,"  explained  Mrs.  Jack,  "  after  we  had  agreed 
that — what  shall  I  call  him? — the  man  with 
Chopinitis  is  not  a  liar.  You  don't  accept  the 
hypnotic  theory,  Dr.  Woodruff.  What's  the 
other?" 

"  Would  you  be  shocked,"  asked  the  psychol 
ogist,  sauvely,  "  if  I  should  suggest  that  your 
friend  may  be  possibly  under  the  direct  influence 
of  the  spirit  of  the  late  Frederic  Frangois  Cho 
pin?" 

"  That's  what  Tom  thinks !  "  I  cried,  excitedly, 
and  then  bit  my  tongue,  regretfully.  Dr.  Wood 
ruff's  penetrating  eyes  were  fixed  on  me. 

"  I  said  that  there  were  gaps  in  your  narra- 
230 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

live,"  he  remarked,  reproachfully.  "  Your  friend 
— I  take  it  that  his  name  is  Tom — believes,  then, 
that  he  is  under  the  control  of  Chopin?  " 

"  I  think  he  does/'  I  answered,  not  very  gra 
ciously;  "  he  has  spent  much  time  of  late  reading 
the  details  of  Chopin's  life." 

"  H'm !  "  exclaimed  the  doctor,  like  one  who 
comes  gladly  on  a  new  symptom  in  a  puzzling 
case ;  "  would  it  not  be  possible,  madam,  for  me 
to  see  this  man,  unobserved  myself?  If  I  could 
hear  him  play  it  would  be  throwing  a  flood  of 
light  on  the  case.  As  it  is,  I  am  groping  in 
the  dark." 

"  And — and — in  case,  sir,  that  your  worst  fears 
are  realized,"  I  faltered,  "  can  you  do  anything 
for  him?  Can  he  be  cured?  " 

'  You  see,  doctor,  she  didn't  marry  Chopin. 
Naturally—" 

The  look  that  I  gave  Mrs.  Jack  quieted  her 
restless  tongue.  But  the  fat  was  in  the  fire. 

"  Yes,  the  murder's  out,  Dr.  Woodruff,"  I  con 
fessed,  wearily.  "  We've  been  talking  about  my 
231 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

husband.  We  were  very  happy  together  before 
his  seizure.  And — and — now " 

"  And  now  his  wife  isn't  one,  two,  three,"  cried 
Mrs.  Jack,  excitedly;  "  and  it's  a  burning  shame. 
Can  you  do  something  for  him,  doctor?  Surely 
you  don't  think  it's  chronic,  do  you  ?  " 

The  suspicion  of  a  smile  crossed  the  physician's 
face,  and  I  felt  the  blood  come  into  my  cheeks. 
I  had  no  intention  of  laying  my  marital  misery 
before  the  keen  eyes  of  this  strangely  powerful 
man,  but  somehow  I  felt  a  sense  of  relief  now 
that  he  had  come  into  possession  of  all  the  facts. 

"  If  you  think  it  advisable,  doctor,  for  you  to 
hear  my  husband  play,"  I  said,  presently,  "  I'm 
sure  it  can  be  arranged.  He  has  agreed  to  give 
a  recital  at  the  rooms  of  the  Chopin  Society  to 
morrow  evening.  He  has  asked  us  to  go  with 
him.  Could  you  not  obtain  a  card?  He  would 
not  know,  of  course,  why  you  were  there." 

"  I  have  many  friends  among  the  Chopin  idola 
ters  ;  it  is  easily  arranged,"  remarked  Dr.  Wood 
ruff,  as  he  rose  and  ushered  us  toward  the  exit 
232 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

from  his  inner  office.  "  Meanwhile,  madam,  I 
shall  make  a  close  study  of  the  case  from  the 
data  already  at  hand.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you 
for  coming  to  me,  and  I  think  I  can  safely  prom 
ise  to  be  of  service  to  you.  Au  revoir.  To-mor 
row  evening  at  eight." 

As  we  seated  ourselves  in  the  carriage,  I  turned 
angrily  to  Mrs.  Jack.  "  Why  did  you  betray 
me?  "  I  cried.  "  It  was  cruel,  cruel !  " 

Mrs.  Jack  smiled  affectionately  and  seized  my 
hand.  "  Don't  be  annoyed  at  me,  my  dear.  I 
was  merely  doing  justice  to  Dr.  Woodruff.  It's 
absurd  to  try  to  put  a  thoroughbred  over  the 
water  jump  with  blinders.  It's  unfair  to  the 
horse,  to  say  the  least." 


233 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  PRELIMINARY  CANTER. 

So  comes,  at  last, 

The  answer  from  the  Vast. 

MAURICE  THOMPSON. 

"  Do  you  really  intend  to  go,  Tom  ?  But  sup 
pose,  dear,  you  don't  feel  like  playing;  what  will 
happen  then?  Do  be  sensible,  old  fellow,  and 
stay  home  with  me.  You  always  shunned  noto 
riety — and  now  you  go  in  search  of  it.  What  is 
the  matter  with  you,  Tom?  You  haven't  been 
at  all  frank  with  me  since — since — " 

"Since  when,  my  dear?"  asked  my  husband, 
smiling  at  me  kindly  over  his  demi-tasse. 

"  Since  you  played  that  duet  with  Signorina 

Molatti  in  the  music-room,"  I  answered,  ashamed 

of  the  feeling  of  jealousy  that  I  had  nourished  for 

several  days.     As  I  gazed  at  Tom's  honest  face 

234 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

the  absurdity  of  the  accusation  that  I  had  brought 
against  him  in  this  undirect  way  forced  itself 
upon  me.  My  husband  at  that  moment  struck 
me  as  the  least  flirtatious-looking  man  I  had  ever 
seen.  But  facts  are  stubborn  things.  I  had 
good  reason  to  believe  that  Tom  had  accompanied 
a  famous  violiniste,  not  only  in  our  music-room 
but  in  the  signorina's  own  drawing-room.  It  is 
astonishing  how  quickly  a  suspicious  wife  de 
velops  into  a  female  Sherlock  Holmes ! 

"  I  plead  guilty  to  the  indictment,"  said  Tom 
presently,  lighting  a  cigar.  "  Suppose  we  go  into 
the  library,  Winifred.  We  can  have  a  quiet  half- 
hour  at  least  before  we  start." 

I  derived  both  pleasure  and  pain  from  this  sug 
gestion.  It  was  satisfactory  to  find  Tom  more 
inclined  to  be  companionable  than  he  had  been 
for  nearly  a  week.  On  the  other  hand,  I  was  dis 
appointed  at  discovering  that  his  determination  to 
attend  the  meeting  of  the  Chopin  Society  re 
mained  unshaken.  That  any  further  protest 
from  me  would  be  futile,  I  fully  realized,  and  it 
235 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

was  with  a  feeling  of  apprehension  and  disquie 
tude  that  I  seated  myself  in  the  library,  and 
watched  Tom  as  he  dreamily  blew  smoke  into  the 
air,  seemingly  forgetful  of  my  presence.  After  a 
time,  he  began  to  speak,  more  like  a  poet  solilo 
quizing  than  an  unimaginative  lawyer  addressing 
his  wife. 

"  It  was  a  strangely  vivid  vision.  I  have  had 
dreams  that  were  like  reality,  but  none  that  ap 
proached  this  one  in  intensity.  I  passed  first 
through  a  doorway  that  led  into  old  picturesque, 
crumbling  cloisters,  forming  a  quadrangle. 
Stretching  away  from  these  cloisters  ran  long  cor 
ridors,  I  hurried  toward  a  light  that  seemed  to 
ridors  I  hurried  toward  a  light  that  seemed  to 
come  through  a  rose  window,  intensifying  the 
grim  darkness  surrounding  me.  It  was  bitterly 
cold;  the  chill  of  death  seemed  to  clutch  at  my 
heart.  And  always  I  heard  the  sound  of  mourn 
ful  voices  through  the  resounding  galleries." 

"  Tom ! "  I  cried,  shocked  by  the  queer  gleam 
in  his  eyes. 

236 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

But  he  went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard  me. 
"  There  were  other  noises,  some  harsh,  others 
majestically  musical,  There  came  to  me  the 
mighty  roaring  of  a  storm-swept  sea  beating 
against  a  rocky  shore.  The  winds  sobbed  and 
thundered  and  whistled  and  fell  away.  Then  I 
could  hear  the  plaintive  notes  of  sea-birds  out 
side  the  stone  walls  of  the  monastery.  But  al 
ways  it  was  the  chill  dampness  that  appalled  me. 
I  was  forever  hurrying  toward  the  rose  window, 
where  warmth  and  love  and  joy  awaited  me;  but 
always  it  fled  before  me,  and  the  long  black  corri 
dor  lay  between  me  and  my  goal.  It  was  horri 
ble." 

"  What  had  you  been  doing,  Tom?"  I  asked, 
in  a  desperate  effort  to  recall  him  to  his  present 
environment.  "  Had  you  been  eating  a  Welsh 
rabbit  at  the  club?" 

He  gazed  at  me,  defiantly.  "  No,"  he  said, 
gloomily,  "  I  had  been  playing  Chopin  with  Sig- 
norina  Moletti." 

By  an  effort  of  will,  I  restrained  the  words  that 
237 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

rushed  to  my  lips,  and  asked,  quietly :  "  And 
which  of  his  works  had  you  been  playing?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered,  wearily.  "  I 
think  the  signorina  said  our  last  rendition  was 
No  i  of  Opus  40,  whatever  that  may  mean." 

Tom  glanced  at  me  sheepishly,  for  all  the  world 
like  a  mischievous  schoolboy  who  has  been  forced 
to  make  a  confession.  My  mind  was  hard  at 
work  trying  to  recall  the  details  of  my  recent  re 
searches  into  the  life  of  Chopin.  To  refresh  my 
memory,  I  opened  a  book  that  lay  among  other 
Lives  of  "  the  master  "  on  the  library-table. 

"  '  No.  i  of  Opus  40,'  "  I  presently  found  my 
self  reading  aloud,  "  'is  in  A  major,  and  is 
throughout  an  intensely  martial  composition. 
There  is  a  spirit  of  victory  and  conquest  about  it. 
The  most  remarkable  circumstances  attached  to  it 
seems  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  it  is  supposed  to  have 
been  written  during  Chopin's  sojourn  at  the  Car 
thusian  monastery  on  the  island  of  Mallorca  with 
George  Sand.' ' 

Bitterly  did  I  regret  my  indiscreet  quotation. 
238 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

Tom  had  turned  white  and  there  had  come  into 
his  eyes  an  appealing,  despairing  expression  that 
reminded  me  of  a  deer  I  had  once  seen  brought  to 
bay  in  the  Adirondack  forest. 

"  Mrs.  Van  Corlear,"  announced  the  butler  at 
the  door  of  the  library,  and  Mrs.  Jack,  who  had 
the  run  of  the  house,  came  toward  us  gaily. 

"And  how  is  our  boy-wonder  this  evening?" 
she  cried,  laughingly.  "  I'm  backing  Tom  Rem 
sen  for  the  great  Chopin  handicap  to-night.  Are 
you  quite  fit,  Tom?  Do  I  get  a  run  for  my 
money?  " 

How  easy  it  is  for  our  most  intimate  friends 
to  take  our  troubles  lightly !  Although  I  realized 
that  underlying  Mrs.  Jack's  levity  was  a  kindly 
motive — a  desire  to  carry  off  an  awkward  situa 
tion  with  the  least  possible  friction — I  could  not 
help  feeling  annoyed  at  her  flippant  words.  Great- 
ful  as  I  was  to  her  for  her  loyal  interest  in  my  pe 
culiar  affliction,  it  was  unpleasant  to  feel  that  Mrs. 
Jack  was  treating  as  a  light  comedy  what  seemed 
to  me  to  involve  all  the  elements  of  a  tragedy. 

239 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

There  was  nothing  farcical,  surely,  in  Tom's  ap 
pearance  as  he  stood  there,  pale,  silent,  smiling 
perfunctorily  at  our  guest,  every  inch  a  modern 
gentleman,  but  strangely  like  the  tagonist  of  some 
classic  drama,  the  rebellious  but  impotent  play 
thing  of  vindictive  gods. 

"  Come,  let  us  go,"  I  cried,  nervously,  anxious 
to  put  an  end  to  a  most  uncomfortable  situation. 
"Do  you  really  feel  up  to  it,  Tom ?  There  is  still 
time  to  back  out  of  it,  you  know.  A  solo  before 
a  crowd  is  much  more  trying  than  a  duet  in  pri 
vate." 

I  had  not  intended  to  hurt  Tom's  feelings,  but 
my  words  had  displayed  a  plentiful  lack  of  tact. 
And  the  worst  of  it  was  that  Mrs  Jack  seemed 
to  be  in  a  diabolical  mood,  for  she  at  once  jumped 
at  the  chance  to  make  mischief. 

"  I  have  heard  of  your  fondness  for  duets, 
Tom,"  she  remarked,  and  I  was  reminded  of  the 
soft  purring  of  a  cat  preparing  to  pounce  on  a 
helpless  mouse.  "What  a  delight  it  must  be  to 
Signorina  Molatti  to  find  an  interpreter  of  Chopin 
240 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

worthy  of  her  riddle!     You  find  her  a  very  in 
teresting  personality,  do  you  not?" 

Tom  stopped  short — we  were  slowly  making 
our  exit  from  the  library — and  gazed  at  Mrs.  Jack 
with  a  puzzled  expression  in  his  eyes.  "  Signor- 
ina  Molatti  ?  "  he  queried,  musingly.  "  What  do 
I  think  of  her?  I  really  don't  know.  I  never 
considered  the  question  before.  She's  merely  a 
part  of  the  music — not  an  individual,  don't  you 
see?"  Suddenly  his  face  changed,  and  he  put 
his  hand  to  his  brow  as  if  a  sharp  pain  had  tor 
mented  him.  "  Wait  a  moment !  Don't  go !  "  he 
implored  us,  in  a  labored,  unnatural  voice. 
"  What  does  it  all  mean  ?  Tell  me !  What  am 
I  doing  ?  I  can't  play  Chopin !  I  can't  play  any 
thing!  Have  I  been  hypnotized?  I  tell  you, 
Winifred — Mrs.  Jack — 'tis  all  a  mistake,  a  mys 
tery,  an  uncanny,  hideous  bedevilment.  It's  de 
moniac  possession — or  something  of  that  kind. 
And  what'll  the  Chopin  Society  think  if  I  make 
a  horrible  flunk?  At  this  moment,  I  don't  feel 
as  if  I  could  play  a  note.  Come  into  the  music- 
16  241 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

room!"  he  ended,  a  touch  of  wildness  in  his 
voice  and  manner. 

Mrs.  Jack  and  I  followed  him,  silently.  There 
was  in  Tom's  way  of  hurrying  across  the  draw 
ing-room  a  mingling  of  eagerness  and  dread  that 
was  wholly  uncharacteristic  of  the  man.  As  he 
hastened  feverishly  toward  the  piano,  a  hectic 
flush  on  his  cheeks  and  his  eyes  aglow,  he  re 
minded  me  of  a  youth  I  had  seen  at  Monte  Carlo 
staking  his  whole  fortune  on  a  turn  of  the  roulette 
wheel. 

For  a  time,  Tom  sat  at  the  instrument,  his  head 
bowed  low  and  his  hands  hanging  listlessly  at 
his  side.  Mrs.  Jack's  arm  was  round  my  waist, 
and  I  could  hear  her  deep,  hurried  breathing  and 
feel  the  nervous  tremor  of  her  slender,  well-knit 
form.  It  was  indeed  a  most  trying  crisis  that 
could  disturb  the  poise  of  the  athletic  woman  be 
side  me. 

"  He  doesn't  connect,"  she  whispered  to  me, 
presently.  "  I  wish  Dr.  Woodruff  were  here." 

But  Mrs.  Jack  had  spoken  prematurely.  Sud- 
242 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

denly  Tom's  hands  were  raised  and  he  struck  the 
opening  chords  of  Chopin's  Scherzo  in  B  minor, 
Opus  20.  The  fury  of  the  following  measures 
he  rendered  with  stunning  effect.  Then  the  vigor 
of  the  rushing  quaver  figure  lessened  gradually, 
and,  at  the  repeat,  Tom  sprang  erect  and  turned 
toward  us,  an  expression  of  weird  ecstasy  on  his 
face. 

"  It's  all  right,  girls!  "  he  cried,  with  a  boyish 
lack  of  dignity.  "  Come  on !  We're  late,  as  it 
is.  I'll  show  those  Chopin  people  something 
they'll  never  forget !  Come  on !  " 

"  He's  fit!  "  whispered  Mrs.  Jack  to  me.  "  It 
wasn't  much  of  a  preliminary  canter — but  he's  in 
the  running  fast  enough !  " 


243 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  CHOPIN  SOCIETY. 

In  this  dark  world  where  now  I  stay, 

I  scarce  can  see  myself  ; 
The  radiant  soul  shines  on  my  way 

As  my  fair  guiding  elf. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

MOLATTI  was  a  marvel  of  beauty  that  evening. 
Great  as  was  my  prejudice  against  the  girl,  I  was 
forced  to  admit  to  myself,  as  we  entered  the 
crowded  rooms  of  the  Chopin  Society,  that  I  had 
never  seen  a  handsomer  creature,  nor  one  more 
radiant  with  the  joy  of  life.  The  glory  of  youth, 
the  fire  of  genius  were  in  her  eyes.  There  were 
many  striking  faces  in  evidence  that  evening, 
faces  full  of  the  subtle  charm  that  the  worship  of 
music  frequently  begets;  ugly  faces  alight  with 
an  inward  glow,  symmetrical  faces  whose  regu 
larity  was  not  insipid;  plebeian  faces  stamped  by 
244 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

an  acquired  distinction;  patrician  faces  warmed 
by  an  esthetic  enthusiasm;  faces  that  told  their 
story  of  struggle  and  defeat,  and  others  that  bore 
the  mysterious  imprint  of  success.  But  there  was 
only  one  countenance  in  all  that  picturesque 
throng  to  which  my  gaze  constantly  returned, 
paying  unwilling  homage  to  a  fascination  against 
which  I  vainly  rebelled.  I  found  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  Tom  had  never  noticed  the  signorina's 
wonderful  beauty  of  face  and  form,  that  he  had 
always  considered  her,  as  he  had  said,  "  merely  a 
part  of  the  music." 

Mrs.  Jack,  who  had  been  watching  me  closely, 
seemed  to  read  my  mind,  for  she  whispered  to  me 
teasingly :  "  Tom'll  sit  up  and  take  notice  to 
night,  don't  you  think  ?  She's  well  groomed  and 
shows  blood,  doesn't  she?  " 

From  Mrs.  Jack  Van  Corlear  this  was  high 
praise  indeed,  and  Molatti  deserved  it.  The 
studied  simplicity  of  her  low-cut  black  gown,  re 
lieved  by  a  small  cluster  of  diamonds  below  the 
neck,  harmonized  with  the  quiet  arrangement  of 
245 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

her  luxuriant,  dark  hair,  seemingly  held  in  place 
by  a  miniature  aigrette  of  small  diamonds.  The 
marmoreal  whiteness  of  her  perfect  neck  and 
firm,  well-rounded  arms  was  emphasized  by  a 
sharp  contrast.  Of  color  there  was  none,  save 
for  the  slight  flush  of  health  in  her  cheeks  and  the 
rich,  red  line  of  her  strong,  sensitive  mouth. 

I  glanced  at  Tom,  who  stood  not  far  from  me, 
listening  to  the  words  of  the  president  of  the 
society,  a  short,  slender,  nervous-looking  man, 
whose  mobile  countenance  at  that  moment  sug 
gested  the  joy  of  a  lion-hunter  who  has  achieved 
unexpectedly  a  difficult  feat.  Tom  was  pale,  and 
there  was  a  wrinkle  in  his  brow  just  between  the 
eyes  that  assured  me  he  was  not  completely  at 
ease.  But  he  seemed  to  be  wholly  indifferent  to 
the  presence  of  Signorina  Molatti.  That  he  had 
not  glanced  at  her  since  our  entrance  to  the  hall 
I  felt  quite  sure.  Was  Tom  really  a  great  actor  ? 
It  was  a  question  that  was  constantly  recurring 
to  me,  despite  the  weight  of  evidence  against  an 
affirmative  answer. 

246 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

Presently  Tom  returned  to  my  side,  and  Mrs. 
Jack  deliberately  stuck  a  pin  into  him — or,  rather, 
us. 

"  Is  music  antagonistic  to  manners,  Tom  Rem 
sen?  Go  over  and  speak  to  Signorina  Molatti. 
It  is  your  duty,  sir." 

"  And  my  pleasure,  Mrs.  Jack,"  said  Tom,  with 
a  smile  that  recalled  his  former  self,  my  Tom  of 
the  ante-Chopin  days.  He  left  us  at  once  to 
make  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  Molatti's 
corner. 

"  I  take  it,  madam,  that  that  is  your  hubsand," 
remarked  a  deep,  low,  carefully  modulated  voice. 
I  turned  to  find  Dr.  Emerson  Woodruff  beside 
me.  "  He  doesn't  look  musical." 

"  No,  but  he  is,"  Mrs.  Jack  put  in,  hastily. 
"  We've  heard  him  play  to-night,  doctor.  He's 
good  for  any  distance — with  something  to  spare. 
Mark  my  words,  sir." 

"  Have  you  reached  any  conclusion  about  the 
case,  Dr.  Woodruff?"  I  whispered,  nervously. 
"  Mrs.  Van  Corlear  is  right.  He  was  in  splendid 
247 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

form  just  before  we  left  home.  He  seemed  to  be 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  astonishing  these  peo 
ple.  But  he  had  had  a  curious  outbreak.  He 
had  remarked,  rather  wildly,  that  he  was  not  a 
musician,  couldn't  play  a  note,  and  was,  he  be 
lieved,  suffering  from  '  demoniac  possession.'  ' 

I  saw  that  my  statement  had  made  a  deep  im 
pression  on  the  psychologist.  His  face  was  very 
grave  as  he  watched  Tom,  who  stood  beside  Mo- 
latti,  evidently  conversing  with  her  with  more 
vivacity  than  I  had  ever  seen  him  display  before. 

"  He's  a  phlegmatic,  well-balanced  man,  in  per 
fect  health,"  muttered  the  doctor,  musingly.  "  I 
am  inclined  to  think,"  he  went  on,  addressing  me 
directly,  "  that  your  husband's  case,  madam,  is 
the  most  remarkable  that  has  ever  come  under  my 
personal  observation.  I  am  very  anxious  to  hear 
— and  see —  him  play  before  saying  anything  fur 
ther  about  it.  You  feel  sure  that  he  intends  to 
perform  to-night?" 

Before  I  could  answer  this  question  I  found 
myself  beset  by  the  fussy  little  president  of  the 
248 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

society,  who  appeared  to  believe  that  he  owed  me 
a  great  debt  of  gratitude. 

"  I  tried  to  thank  Mr.  Remsen  for  coming  here 
— to  our  so  great  joy ! — but  he  referred  me  to  you, 
madam.  Oh,  how  much  I  owe  you!  And  it  is 
so  charming  to  find  the  wife  of  a  man  of  genius 
wholly  in  sympathy  with  his  career.  It  is  not 
always  thus,  you  know,  Mrs.  Remsen." 

I  could  feel  the  internal  laughter  that  I  knew 
Mrs.  Jack  was  suppressing  behind  me.  I  longed 
to  turn  round  and  glare  at  her,  but  I  was  forced 
to  smile  down  into  the  excited  face  of  the  Chopin 
enthusiast,  who,  ex  oflicio,  was  my  host  for  the 
evening. 

"  I  trust  you  will  not  find  Mr.  Remsen  a  great 
disappointment,"  I  managed  to  say,  weakly.  For 
an  instant  a  hot,  almost  irresistible  inclination 
stung  me  to  tell  this  overwrought,  undersized 
bundle  of  nerves  the  plain  truth,  to  assure  him 
that  Tom  Remsen,  my  husband,  couldn't  tell  a 
nocturne  from  a  negro  lullaby,  that  he  was  as 
ignorant  of  music  as  I  was  of  law. 
249 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  I  am  sure,"  commented  the  president,  politely, 
"  that  no  disappointment  awaits  us — rather  a 
great  and  holy  joy.  But  I  regret  that  our  pleas 
ure  must  be  deferred  for  a  few  moments.  Won't 
you  and  your  friends  find  seats,  please?  I  have 
prepared — at  the  request  of  the  society — a  short 
paper  on  '  The  Personality  of  Chopin.'  It  will 
take  not  more  than  ten  minutes  for  me  to  read  it. 
After  that,  Mrs.  Remsen,  we  are  to  have  a  most 
wonderful  duet  from  Signorina  Molatti  and  Mr. 
Remsen." 

The  little  man  disappeared,  and  I  was  glad  to 
rest  myself  in  the  chair  that  Dr.  Woodruff  had 
found  for  me.  I  turned  toward  Mrs.  Jack,  who 
had  seated  herself  beside  me.  She  saw  the  gleam 
of  annoyance  in  my  eyes  as  they  met  hers,  but 
smiled,  sweetly. 

"  Why  are  you  angry  with  me,  my  dear?  "  she 
whispered.  "  Am  I  responsible  if  nature  granted 
me  a  sense  of  humor?  You  must  acknowledge 
that  the  situation  is  amusing — even  if  it  is  a  bit 
uncanny." 

250 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

Tom  had  seated  himself  beside  Molatti  to  lis 
ten  to  the  president's  essay.  Presently,  I  found 
myself  hearkening,  with  almost  feverish  interest, 
to  the  latter. 

"  I  have  thought  it  well,  my  friends,"  the  presi 
dent  was  saying,  "  to  confine  my  remarks  this 
evening  to  Chopin  in  his  great  general  relations 
to  the  world.  I  shall  endeavor  to  draw  a  picture 
of  the  man  rather  than  of  the  musician.  And 
first  of  all,  let  me  quote  from  Liszt  in  regard  to 
the  master's  appearance." 

I  glanced  at  Tom.  He  sat  motionless,  almost 
rigid,  with  a  face  so  lacking  in  expression  that  it 
was  hard  to  believe  he  had  caught  the  significance 
of  the  speaker's  words. 

"  '  The  ensemble  of  his  person,'  "  quoted  the 
president,  "  '  was  harmonious,  and  called  for  no 
special  comment.  His  eye  was  more  spiritual 
than  dreamy;  his  bland  smile  never  writhed  into 
bitterness.  The  transparent  delicacy  of  his  com 
plexion  pleased  the  eye ;  his  fair  hair  was  soft  and 
silky,  his  nose  slightly  aquiline,  his  bearing  so 
251 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

distinguished  and  his  manner  stamped  with  so 
much  of  high  breeding  that  involuntarily  he  was 
always  treated  en  prince.  He  was  generally 
gay;  his  caustic  spirit  caught  the  ridiculous  rap 
idly,  and  far  below  the  surface  at  which  it  usually 
strikes  the  eye.  His  gaiety  was  so  much  the  more 
piquant  because  he  always  restrained  it  within 
the  bounds  of  good  taste,  holding  at  a  distance 
all  that  might  tend  to  wound  the  most  fastidious 
delicacy.'  '  To  this  quotation,  the  president 
added  a  few  words  from  Orlowski :  "  '  Chopin  is 
full  of  health  and  vigor;  all  the  Frenchwomen 
dote  on  him,  and  all  the  men  are  jealous  of  him. 
In  a  word,  he  is  the  fashion,  and  we  shall  no 
doubt  shortly  have  gloves  a  la  Chopin' ' 

The  president  paused,  and  I  saw  with  conster 
nation  that  he  was  glaring  at  my  husband.  The 
cause  of  this  interruption  was  apparent  at  once 
as  I  shifted  my  gaze.  Tom  was  rocking  back 
and  forth  in  his  chair,  shaking  with  laughter. 
His  effort  to  keep  his  merriment  in  check,  to  re 
strain  the  loud  guffaws  that  seemed  to  rack  his 
2*2 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

very  frame,  was  painfully  in  evidence.  There 
was  something  almost  heroic  in  his  endeavor  to 
repress  an  outbreak  that  would  have  been  brutally 
rude.  Tom  had  become  the  center  of  all  eyes 
through  the  president's  lack  of  tact. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  whispered 
Mrs.  Jack,  hysterically. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  lamely.  "  He's 
had  a  funny  thought.  Is  he  better?"  I  had 
turned  away  from  him. 

"  He's  growing  worse,  I  think,"  answered  Mrs. 
Jack,  despondently.  "  Why  doesn't  the  presi 
dent  go  on?  There,  it's  all  right.  He's  quiet 
now." 

Mrs.  Jack  spoke  truly.  The  president  had  re 
sumed  his  lecture,  and  I  turned  and  saw  that  Tom 
was  no  longer  swaying  with  mirth. 

"How  did  it  happen?"  I  murmured  in  Mrs. 
Jack's  ear. 

"  I'm  not  sure,"  she  whispered,  "  but  I  think 
Molatti  touched  his  hand.     Oh,  isn't  it  weird?     I 
can't  help  feeling  it's  like  breaking  a  colt." 
253 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AN  UNRECORDED  OPUS. 

Meth ought  it  was  a  glorious  joy,  indeed, 
To  shut  and  open  heaven  as  he  did. 

EMMA  TATHAM. 

WHENEVER  a  number  of  men  and  women 
whose  lives  are  devoted  to  some  one  line  of  art 
are  gathered  together  the  social  atmosphere  be 
comes  surcharged  with  electricity.  If  one  is 
impressionable,  acutely  sensitive  to  an  environ 
ment,  it  is  best,  perhaps,  to  avoid  the  haunts  of 
genius.  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  sociologists 
will  investigate  eventually  the  eternal  antagonism 
between  Belgravia  and  bohemia  by  strictly  scien 
tific  methods.  How  large  an  infusion  of  genius 
can  be  safely  sustained  by  a  throng  in  search  of 
social  relaxation  it  would  be  well  to  know.  One 
254 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

fact,  at  least,  in  this  connection  has  been  repeat 
edly  demonstrated — as  I  had  learned  to  my  cost 
— namely,  that  a  social  function  based  on  music 
rests  on  a  powder  mine.  Belgravia  had  witnessed 
an  explosion  at  my  recent  musical.  And  now,  I 
felt  convinced,  bohemia  was  to  undergo  a  like 
ordeal. 

Tom  was  at  the  root  of  this  disquieting  con 
viction.  His  hysterical  attack  of  wholly  irrelevant 
hilarity,  his  quick  response  to  Molatti's  soothing 
touch,  and  now  the  tense,  unnatural  expression 
of  his  face  filled  me  with  painful  apprehension. 
I  both  craved  and  dreaded  the  end  of  the  presi 
dent's  discourse,  and  my  forebodings  were  dark 
ened  by  a  remark  made  by  Mrs.  Jack,  who  seemed 
to  derive  real  pleasure  from  the  excitement  of  the 
crisis. 

"  Look  at  Tom,"  she  whispered.  "  He's  fret 
ful  at  the  post.  He'll  get  the  bit  in  his  teeth, 
presently.  Do  you  see  Dr.  Woodruff  over  there  ? 
He's  taking  notes." 

Before  she  had  ceased  to  speak  Tom  was  out  of 
255 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

hand  and  had  bolted  down  the  track,  as  Mrs.  Jack 
would  have  put  it.  In  other  words,  he  had 
sprung  from  Molatti's  side  as  the  president  ended 
his  discourse  and  had  rushed  to  the  piano  at  the 
end  of  the  room.  I  caught  the  look  of  amaze 
ment  on  the  president's  quaint  face,  and  laughed 
aloud,  nervously.  Utterly  ashamed  of  my  lack  of 
self-control,  I  glanced  at  the  crowd  surrounding 
me,  but  nobody  had  noticed  my  touch  of  hysteria. 
Every  eye  in  the  room  was  fastened  on  Tom,  who 
was  seated  motionless  at  the  piano  in  an  appar 
ently  dazed  condition.  His  eyes  were  closed  and 
the  corners  of  his  mouth  drawn  down.  He 
looked  at  that  moment  like  the  very  incarnation 
of  all  that  was  unmusical  in  the  universe.  I  feared 
that  Mrs.  Jack  would  comment  on  his  ridiculous 
appearance,  but  she  was  kind  enough  to  keep 
quiet.  She  told  me  afterward  that  my  raucous 
laugh  had  frightened  her. 

Suddenly  Tom's  chin  went  up,  he  opened  his 
eyes,  fixed  them  on  Molatti's  white  face,  and  be 
gan  to  play.     Such  weird,  intoxicating  harmonies 
256 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

as  filled  the  room,  setting  every  soul  therein 
athrob  with  an  ecstasy  that  was  close  akin  to 
agony,  no  earthly  audience  had  ever  heard  before. 
Men  and  women  were  there  who  had  memorized 
each  and  every  note  that  Chopin  wrote,  but  there 
was  not  among  them  one  who  could  identify  this 
marvelous  improvisation,  this  strange  exposition 
of  a  great  master  in  his  most  inspired  mood.  It 
was  Chopin,  but  Chopin  unrecorded;  his  genius 
in  its  most  characteristic  tendency,  but  raised,  as 
a  mathematician  would  say,  to  the  nih  power.  It 
was  as  if  the  soul  of  the  composer,  dissatisfied 
with  the  heritage  that  he  had  left  to  us,  had  re 
turned  to  earth  to  exhibit  to  his  worships  the  one 
perfect  flower  of  his  creative  spirit. 

How  long  Tom  played  I  have  never  known.  I 
had  forgotten  all  about  him  before  many  minutes 
had  passed,  losing  in  my  impressionability  to 
music  my  sensitiveness  as  the  wife  of  a  man  mis 
understood.  There  were  in  the  universe  only 
my  soul  and  a  throbbing  splendor  of  great  music, 
mighty  harmonies  that  filled  all  space,  magic 
I?  257 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

chords  that  awakened  dim  memories  of  a  life 
long  past,  filled  to  overflowing  with  joy  and  s*or- 
row,  tossing  waves  of  melody  that  bore  me  to  the 
stars  or  sank  with  me  into  vast,  mysterious 
realms  peopled  by  gray  shadows  that  I  had 
learned  to  love. 

Presently  I  felt  Mrs.  Jack's  hand  clasping  mine. 
"  Don't  go  to  him,  dear.  He  has  only  fainted," 
I  heard  her  saying,  her  voice  seeming  to  reach 
me  from  a  remote  distance.  "  He  was  all  out, 
and  collapsed  under  the  wire.  But  it's  nothing 
serious." 

Tom  had  sunk  back  into  Molatti's  arms,  and 
his  head  rested  against  her  shoulder.  She  had 
sprung  toward  him,  as  I  learned  later,  just  in 
time  to  save  him  from  a  fall.  She  now  stood  gaz 
ing  mournfully  down  on  his  white,  upturned  face, 
sorrow,  pity  and,  I  imagined,  remorse  in  her 
glance.  For  an  instant  a  hot  rage  swept  over 
me,  and  I  strove  to  stand  erect,  despite  Mrs.  Jack's 
restraining  hand. 

"  Don't  make  a  scene !  "  she  whispered  to  me, 

258 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

passionately  in  earnest.     "  He  is  in  no  danger. 

See?  Dr.  Woodruff  is  feeling  his  pulse." 

Even  at  that  awful  moment,  when  I  knew  not 

whether  Tom  was  alive  or  dead,  I  remember  that 

my  mind  dwelt  for  a  moment  on  the  tendency  of 

new  schools  of  medicine  to  cling  to  old  traditions. 

Of  what  significance  to  a  psychologist  could  the 

rapidity  of  Tom's  pulse  be?     I  heard  people  all 

around  me  talking  excitedly. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like  it?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  it's  one  of  the  master's  posthumous 

works.     I  couldn't  identify  it,  but  perhaps  it  was 

discovered  by  Remsen." 

"  That's  absurd !  Where  could  he  find  it?  " 
"  He's  better  now.  See,  he  opens  his  eyes." 
"  I  don't  wonder  he  fainted;  I  was  just  on  the 

verge  of  collapse  myself." 

"  Parbleu!     Chopin  a  la  diable!     Non,  non,  no 

more  pour  mot,  s'il  vous  plait!  " 

"  I  can  now  die  so  vara  happy!     I  hava  justa 

once  heard  the  maestro  himself.     I  hava  nothing 

left  for  to  live." 

259 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Who  is  this  wonderful  Remsen  ?  Never 
heard  of  him  before." 

"  You'll  hear  of  him  again,  then.  He's  the 
only  man  living  who  can  interpret  the  master." 

It  was,  all  of  it,  intolerable.  How  I  hated  these 
chattering  idiots,  wrho  were  making  an  idol  of 
clay,  setting  up  my  poor  Tom — who  was  to  me 
at  that  moment  an  object  of  pity — as  the  incarna 
tion  of  their  cult,  to  whom  they  must  pay  reverent 
homage!  I  longed  to  cry  aloud  to  them  that 
they  had  been  tricked,  that  my  husband  was  a  sen 
sible,  commonplace,  lovable  man,  as  far  removed 
from  a  musical  crank  as  he  was  from  a  train- 
robber  or  a  pirate.  All  my  former  love  for  mu 
sic  seemed  to  have  turned  suddenly  into  detesta 
tion,  and  I  longed  to  get  away  from  this  nest  of 
Chopiniacs  into  the  noisy,  wholesome  atmosphere 
of  the  outside  world.  It  seemed  to  me  that  noth 
ing  could  restore  my  equilibrium  but  the  uproar 
of  the  streets  and  the  unmelodious  clatter  of  my 
coach. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this  at  once,"  I  said  to 
260 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

Mrs.  Jack,  standing  erect  and  checking  the  dizzi 
ness  in  my  head  by  an  effort  of  will.  I  saw  that 
Tom  had  fully  recovered  his  senses  and  that  he 
seemed  to  be  actually  enjoying  the  homage  the 
excited  throng  pressing  toward  him  offered  to  his 
vicarious  genius.  Beside  him  stood  Molatti,  her 
face  radiant,  as  if  her  mission  on  earth  were  to 
reflect  the  glory  of  Tom  Remsen's  musical  mir 
acle. 

"  We  must  get  out  of  this,"  I  found  myself 
saying  again,  as  I  urged  Mrs.  Jack  toward  the 
exit.  "  I'll  send  the  carriage  back  for  Tom." 

"  But  it's  such  bad  form  to  run  away  like  this," 
protested  Mrs.  Jack.  "  What  will  the  president 
think  of  us?  And  Dr.  Woodruff!  Surely  you 
want  to  ask  him  what  he  thinks  of  the — ah — 
case." 

But  my  will  for  the  time  being  was  stronger 
than  hers,  and  presently  we  were  seated  in  my  car 
riage,  homeward  bound,  and  I  was  fighting  back 
the  hot  tears  that  had  rushed  to  my  eyes. 

"  I — I — don't  care  what — what  Dr.  Woodruff 
261 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

thinks  about  the — the  case,"  I  sobbed.  "  I — I — 
know  what  I  think  about  it." 

Mrs.  Jack  said  nothing  for  a  time,  but  it  was 
pleasant  to  feel  the  pressure  of  her  hand  and  to 
realize  that  she  could  be  tactful  now  and  again. 

We  had  nearly  reached  the  house  before  she 
ventured  to  ask :  "  And  what,  my  dear,  do  you 
think  of  the  case?" 

I  pulled  myself  together  and  restrained  my 
sobs.  I  am  not  of  the  weeping  variety  of  woman, 
and  I  was  ashamed  of  my  hysterical  exhibition  of 
weakness. 

"  I  think,"  I  began,  and  then  I  hesitated,  weigh 
ing  my  words  carefully — "  I  think  that  Signorina 
Molatti  is  in  love  writh  Tom." 

Mrs.  Jack  laughed  outright,  both  to  my  amaze 
ment  and  anger.  "  You've  wholly  lost  the  scent, 
my  dear,"  she  remarked,  while  I  removed  my 
hand  from  hers.  "  Signorina  Molatti  is  not  in 
love  with  Tom — she's  in  love  with  Chopin." 


262 


CHAPTER  X. 

TOM'S  RECOVERY. 

At  length  the  man  perceives  it  die  away 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

WH.UAM  WORDSWORTH. 

AFTER  rereading  the  foregoing  deposition  I  am 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  designed  by 
nature  neither  for  a  novelist  nor  a  historian.  I 
can  see  that  my  -narrative  fails  to  be  convincing, 
considered  either  as  a  work  of  fiction  or  as  a  state 
ment  of  fact.  But  may  I  not  comfort  myself 
with  the  thought  that  I  have  given  my  testimony 
conscientiously,  and  that  if  the  outcome  of  my  lit 
erary  efforts  is  unsatisfactory  my  failure  is  due 
rather  to  the  inexplicable  phenomena  with  which 
I  have  been  obliged  to  deal  than  to  my  own  defects 
as  an  annalist  and  witness?  I  have  endeavored 
263 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

to  inscribe  simply  and  in  chronological  order  the 
unadorned  tale  of  my  husband's  sudden  attack  of 
genius  and  its  consequences,  and  I  realize  now 
that  my  data  will  not  be  accepted  by  the  scientific, 
nor  will  their  arrangement  appeal  to  the  artistic. 
But  I  have  told  the  truth,  and  if  not  the  whole 
truth,  at  least  nothing  but  the  truth.  As  litera 
ture  my  story  belongs  to  the  realistic  school  and 
is  of  the  present.  As  a  contribution  to  science  it 
will  have  no  standing  to-day,  but  I  am  firmly  con 
vinced  that  the  psychologists  of  the  future  will 
read  the  details  of  Tom  Remsen's  case  with  en 
lightened  interest. 

I  have  felt  too  deeply  the  nervous  strain  of  set 
ting  down  in  black  and  white  the  story  of  the 
greatest  crisis  in  my  life  to  go  into  details  here 
and  now  regarding  the  ups  and  downs  of  the  long 
illness  that  Tom  underwent  after  his  triumphant 
appearance  before  the  Chopin  Society. 

For  two  days  before  he  collapsed  I  saw  that  he 
was  fighting  in  grim  silence  against  weakness  and 
fever.  He  was  like  a  man  struggling  to  over- 
264 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

come  an  unnatural  appetite  and  growing  con 
stantly  more  weary  of  the  contest.  He  would 
stroll  with  reluctant  steps  into  the  music-room, 
stand  for  a  time  gazing  defiantly  at  the  piano, 
with  his  hands  clenched  and  beads  of  perspiration 
on  his  troubled  brow;  then  he  would  turn  away, 
meeting  my  gaze  with  a  melancholy  smile,  and 
hurry  off  to  his  office  or  his  club,  to  return  to  me 
after  a  time  pale  and  listless,  but  always  stub 
bornly  silent  as  to  the  cause  of  his  evident  suffer 
ing.  Only  once  before  he  was  forced  to  take  to 
his  bed,  where  he  tossed  for  a  week  in  delirium, 
did  he  refer,  even  indirectly,  to  the  cause  of  his 
disquietude. 

"Has  Signorina  Molatti  been  here  to-day?" 
he  asked  me,  abruptly,  one  evening  at  dinner. 

"  No,  Tom,"  I  answered,  a  note  in  my  voice 
that  I'm  sure  he  did  not  like.  "  Did  you  expect 
her?" 

"  I  always  expect  her,"  he  muttered,  speaking 
more  to  himself  than  to  me. 

That  evening  the  magnetism  of  the  open  piano 
265 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

in  the  music-room  proved  irresistible  to  him.  To 
my  mingled  consternation  and  delight  he  played 
selections  from  Chopin  until  long  after  midnight, 
the  while  I  sat  behind  him  fascinated  by  his  ren 
ditions  but  appalled  by  the  persistent  recurrence 
of  his  "  seizures."  "  To-morrow,"  I  said  to  my 
self,  "  I  will  consult  Dr.  Woodruff  again.  Per 
haps  he  has  made  his  diagnosis  and  can  suggest 
some  line  of  treatment." 

But  on  the  morrow  Tom  was  in  charge  of  our 
family  doctor  and  two  trained  nurses.  The 
morning  had  found  him  hot  with  fever,  and  by 
noon  he  was  out  of  his  head  and  inclined  to  be  vio 
lent.  Then  followed  days  and  nights  of  alterna 
ting  hope  and  fear,  during  which  there  came  to 
me  a  complete  revelation  of  what  the  old  Tom  had 
been  to  me,  the  Tom  who  had  bored  me  at  times 
— ungrateful  woman  that  I  was! — by  his  practi 
cal,  unimaginative,  inartistic  personality.  How 
I  treasured  a  word  of  encouragement  from  the 
doctor  or  a  nurse!  How  bitterly  I  repented  my 
former  discontent,  my  disloyal  longing  for  some- 
266 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

thing  in  Tom's  make-up  that  nature  had  not 
vouchsafed  to  him!  It  had  come  to  him — this 
"  something  " — and  it  had  well-nigh  ruined  our 
lives.  Whatever  it  had  been,  demoniac  posses 
sion,  hypnotism  or  what-not,  it  had  been  a  thing 
of  evil,  despite  the  uncanny  beauty  of  its  mani 
festation.  In  my  heart  of  hearts  I  craved  one  of 
two  alternatives — either  Tom's  death  or  his  resto 
ration  to  his  former  self,  freed  forever  from  the 
black  shadow  of  Chopin's  genius. 

It  was  not  until  one  afternoon  well  on  in  his 
convalescence  that  I  knew  my  fondest  hopes  had 
been  realized.  We  had  betaken  ourselves  to  the 
library,  not  to  read  but  to  enjoy  in  an  indolent 
way  our  new  freedom  from  trained  nurses  and 
the  discipline  of  the  sick-room.  Tom,  leaning 
back  comfortably  in  a  reclining-chair  and  puffing 
a  cigarette,  wore  on  his  invalid's  face  an  expres 
sion  of  supreme  contentment  Not  once,  I  was 
glad  to  note,  did  his  eyes  wander  to  the  distant 
shelf  on  which  stood  our  Chopin  literature,  books 
that  I  had  doomed  in  my  mind  to  an  auto-da-fe 
267 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

when  a  fitting  opportunity  for  the  sacrifice  should 
arise. 

"Isn't  this  cozy?"  remarked  Tom,  presently, 
glancing  at  me  affectionately.  "  But  I  suppose 
I  must  hasten  my  recovery,  my  dear.  The  Pep 
per  and  Salt  Trust  and  other  enterprises  don't 
take  much  stock  in  sick  men." 

"  Don't  worry  about  business  matters,  Tom 
Remsen,"  I  said,  with  playful  sternness.  "  We 
can  get  on  very  well  if  you  never  do  another 
stroke  of  work  in  your  life." 

A  shadow  passed  over  Tom's  face,  and  he 
puffed  his  cigarette  nervously.  "  I'm  not  fitted 
for  a  life  of  leisure,  my  dear,"  he  remarked, 
grimly.  "  A  man  may  get  into  so  many  kinds 
of  mischief  if  he  isn't  busy." 

I  hastened  to  change  the  subject.  "  Remem 
ber,  sir,  that  you  are  under  orders.  You  are  to 
do  as  you  are  told  to  do.  You  may  not  know  it, 
Tom,  but  the  fact  is  that  you  and  I  sail  for 
Europe  just  as  soon  as  you  are  strong  enough  to 
stand  the  voyage." 

268 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  Where  are  we  going?"  he  asked,  apprehen 
sively.  "Not  to  Paris?" 

"  No,  not  to  Paris,"  I  answered,  understanding 
him.  "  We'll  spend  all  our  time  in  Scotland  and 
Ireland.  They're  the  only  countries  over  there 
that  we  have  not  seen,  Tom." 

The  next  day  I  discharged  our  butler  for  an 
indiscretion  that  he  committed  at  this  moment. 

"  Signorina  Molatti,"  he  announced  from  the 
doorway  of  the  library,  and  turning  my  head  I 
saw  the  violiniste,  with  her  Cremona  under  her 
arm,  coming  toward  us.  I  glanced  at  Tom. 
The  two  red  spots  that  had  leaped  into  his  white 
cheeks  seemed  to  be  an  outward  manifestation, 
not  of  joy  but  of  hot  anger.  I  rose  and  went  to 
ward  our  visitor,  a  question  in  my  face. 

"Will  you  not  forgiva  me,  signora?"  cried 
Molatti,  in  soft,  pleading  tones.  "  Eet  ees  what 
you  calla  vera  bad  form,  but  I  hava  been  so  vera 
unhappy.  They  tolda  me  that  Signer  Remsen 
was  dying.  Can  you  not  forgiva  me  ?  " 

"  But  he  is  on  the  road  to  recovery,  signorina," 
269 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I  said,  perfunctorily.  It  would  not  do  to  give 
way  to  my  inclination  to  chide  this  insinuating 
girl  for  her  presumption.  A  scene  might  cause 
Tom  to  have  a  relapse. 

"  I  see,"  she  cried.  "  And  I  am  so  glad !  And 
I  hava  broughta  my  violin.  That  the  signer 
would  lika  to  hear  the  voice  of  the  maestro — " 

"  Stop  right  there,  will  you — ah — signorina," 
exclaimed  Tom,  gruffly,  endeavoring,  as  I  saw,  to 
control  his  annoyance  and  show  no  discourtesy  to 
even  an  unwelcome  guest.  "  I'm  not  it,  young 
woman.  He's  gone  away,  whoever  he  was.  If 
he  comes  back — which  God  forbid — I'll  notify 
you.  But  you  won't  catch  me  drumming  any 
more  on  a  piano.  My  musical  career  is  at  an 
end.  I'm  under  the  care  of  a  doctor,  and  he  says 
that  I'm  on  the  road  to  recovery.  Forgive  me  if 
I  have  spoken  too  plainly.  You're  a  very  charm 
ing  young  woman,  and  I  admire  your — ah —  gen 
ius.  But  mine's  gone,  and  I'll  take  good  care 
that  it  doesn't  come  back.  If  you'd  like  that 
piano  in  the  music-room,  Signorina  Molatti,  I'm 
270 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

sure  that  my  wife  would  be  glad  to  send  it  over  to 
your  apartments.  We're  through  with  it — for 
ever!" 

I  was  sorry  for  the  girl.  The  expression  of 
amazement — even  horror — that  had  come  into  her 
dark,  expressive  face  touched  my  heart,  and  I  laid 
my  hand  gently  on  her  arm. 

"  It's  a  great  mystery,  signorina,"  I  whispered 
to  her,  as  I  led  her  from  the  library.  "  I  can't  ex 
plain  it  to  you  very  clearly,  for  I  don't  understand 
it  myself.  But  Mr.  Remsen  told  you  the  truth. 
He  is  no  longer  musical.  In  his  normal  condi 
tion  he  is  the  most  unmusical  man  in  the  world. 
The  Signer  Remsen  that  you  have  known,  with 
whom  you  have  played  duets,  is  dead — I  can 
hardly  believe  that  he  ever  existed.  Will  you, 
Signorina  Molatti,  grant  me  the  great  privilege 
of  presenting  to  you  yonder  piano?  Frankly,  it 
would  be  a  great  relief  to  me  to  be  rid  of  it." 

There  were  tears  in  her  splendid  black  eyes  as 
she  turned  her  face  toward  me.  "  I  do  not  un 
derstand,"  she  said,  mournfully.  "  You  do  not 
271 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

know  whata  it  all  meant  to  me.  I  cannot  taka 
your  piano.  There  is  nobody  in  the  wide  world 
to  playa  eet,  now  that  he  ees  gone.  And  you  are 
telling  me  the  truth  ?  I  was  dreaming  ?  Eet  did 
not  really  happen?  But,  signora,  there  were  so 
many  who  hearda  heem — hearda  me — hearda  us ! 
Eet  could  not  hava  been  a  dream.  Whata  was 
eet?" 

Her  voice  broke  with  a  sob,  and  I  bent  down 
and  kissed  her  tear-stained  face. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  signorina.  But  do  not  let 
your  heart  break.  You  may  find  him  again  some 
day." 

"  Nevaire  again,"  she  sighed,  seizing  my  hands 
impulsively.  "  Nevaire  again.  But  I  thanka 
you  so  much.  Fareawell." 

My  heart  was  heavy  as  I  returned  to  Tom,  un 
certain  of  the  state  in  which  I  should  find  him. 
To  my  delight,  I  saw  as  I  entered  the  library  that 
he  had  suddenly  made  a  great  stride  toward  re 
newed  health.  He  was  sitting  erect,  and  there 
was  little  of  the  invalid  in  his  face  or  voice. 
272 


How  Chopin  Came  to  Remsen. 

"  That's  over,  my  dear !  "  he  cried,  gaily,  "  and 
I'm  going  to  celebrate  Chopin's  utter  rout.  Order 
me  a  brandy  and  soda,  will  you? — and  push  that 
box  of  cigars  toward  me.  Then  we'll  read  up  a 
bit,  little  woman,  about  Scotland  and  Ireland. 
On  the  whole,  I'm  inclined  to  believe  you  and  I 
will  have  a  very  jolly  outing." 

I  leaned  forward  and  kissed  the  dear  fellow's 
smiling  lips.  "  It's  so  good  to  have  you  back 
again,  Tom,"  I  murmured. 

"And  the  signorina?"  he  asked,  presently. 
"  How  did  she  take  it  ?  I'm  afraid  I  was  cruel 
to  her,  my  dear.  Did  I  speak  too  harshly  to 
her?" 

"  You  had  no  alternative,  Tom,"  I  assured  him, 
soothingly ;  "  you  had  been  placed  in  a  very  awk 
ward  position." 

"  I  had — in  a  very  awkward  position,"  he  ac 
knowledged.  "  And  who  the  deuce  put  me  there? 
I  wonder " 

"  Don't  wonder,  Tom,"  I  cried,  sharply.  "  The 
273 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

less  wondering  you  do  the  better  it  will  be  for  us 
both." 

"  You're  right,  Winifred,  as  you  always  are," 
he  said,  raising  aloft  the  glass  of  bubbling  brandy 
that  the  butler  had  brought  to  him,  and  nodding 
toward  me.  "  Here's  your  good  health,  my 
dear,  and  bon  voyage  to  us  both !  " 


274 


III. 

Clarissa's   Troublesome   Baby. 


For  while  the  wheel  of  birth  and  death  turns  round, 

Past  things  and  thoughts,  and  buried  lives  come  back  ; 

I  now  remember,  myriad  rains  ago, 

What  time  I  roamed  Htmdla's  hanging  woods, 

A  tiger,  with  my  striped  and  hungry  kind. 

THE  LIGHT  OF  ASIA. 


CLARISSA'S  TROUBLESOME  BABY. 


CHAPTER  I. 

MY   LATE   HUSBAND. 

And  while  the  wheel  of  birth  and  death  turns  round 
That  which  hath  been  must  be  between  us  two. 

— Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

I  WAS  alone  in  the  nursery  with  the  baby,  a 
chubby  boy  whose  eight  months  of  life  had  amaz 
ingly  increased  his  weight  and  vigor,  when  I 
heard  the  crack  of  doom  issuing  from  his  minia 
ture  mouth ! 

I  wonder  if  your  imagination  is  strong  enough 
to  put  you,  for  a  moment,  in  my  place.  Sup 
pose  that  you  had  dismissed  the  nurse  for  a  time 
that  you  might  have  a  mother's  frolic  in  the  twi 
light  with  your  only  child,  the  blessing  that  had 
come  to  you  as  a  reward  for  marrying  again  after 
279 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

five  years  of  widowhood.  Suppose  that  the  baby, 
opening  his  little  eyes  to  their  widest  extent,  had 
said  to  you,  as  my  baby  said  to  me : 

"  You  don't  seem  to  recognize  me,  my  dear, 
but  I've  come  back  to  you." 

Wedded  to  Tom,  already  jealous  of  your  ma 
ternal  fondness  for  the  boy,  what  effect  would 
Jack's  voice,  silenced  five  years  ago  by  death, 
have  had  upon  you,  rising  in  gruff  maturity  from 
a  baby's  tiny  throat?  Was  it  strange  that  I  came 
within  a  hair's  breadth  of  dropping  the  uncanny 
child  to  the  floor?  Mechanically  I  glanced  over 
my  shoulder,  in  cold  dread  lest  the  nurse  might 
return  at  any  moment.  Then  I  found  courage 
to  glance  down  into  the  baby's  upturned  face. 
There  was  something  in  the  child's  eyes  so  old 
and  wise  that  I  realized  my  ears  had  not  deceived 
me — I  had  not  been  the  victim  of  an  hallucination 
resulting  from  the  strain  of  an  afternoon  of  calls 
and  teas.  The  conviction  came  to  me,  like  an 
icy  douche,  that  I  was  standing  there  in  a  stun 
ning  afternoon  costume,  holding  my  first  hus- 
280 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

band  in  my  arms,  and  liable  to  let  him  fall  if  our 
weird  tete-a-tete  should  be  sharply  interrupted. 

"  You  aren't  glad  to  see  me,"  grumbled  Jack, 
wiggling  uneasily  against  my  gloves  and  coat. 
"  But  it  isn't  my  fault  that  I'm  here,  Clarissa. 
There's  a  lot  of  reincarnation  going  on,  you  know, 
and  a  fellow  has  to  take  his  chances." 

Softly,  I  stole  to  a  chair  and  seated  myself, 
holding  the  baby  on  my  trembling  knees. 

"  Are  you — are  you — comfortable,  Jack  ?  "  I 
managed  to  whisper,  falteringly,  the  thought 
flashing  through  my  mind  that  I  had  gone  sud 
denly  insane. 

"  Keep  quiet,  can't  you?  "  he  pleaded.  "  Don't 
shake  so !  I'm  not  a  rattle-box.  I  wish  you'd 
tell  the  nurse,  Clarissa,  to  put  a  stick  in  my  milk, 
'will  you?  There's  a  horrible  sameness  to  my 
present  diet  that  is  absolutely  cloying.  Will  you 
stop  shaking?  I  can't  stand  it." 

By  a  strong  effort  of  will  I  controlled  my  nerv 
ous  tremors,  glancing  apprehensively  at  the  door 
through  which  the  nurse  must  presently  return. 
281 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  There,  that's  better,"  commented  Jack,  con 
tentedly.  "  You  don't  know  much  about  us,  do 
you,  Clarissa  ?  " 

"  About — about — who  ?  "  I  gasped,  wondering 
if  he  meant  spirits. 

"  About  babies,"  he  said,  with  a  wiggle  and  a 
chuckle  that  both  attracted  and  repelled  me. 
"  Where's  your  handkerchief  ?  Wipe  my  nose — 
pardon  me,  Clarissa,  that  sounds  vulgar,  doesn't 
it?  But  what  the  deuce  am  I  to  do?  I'm  abso 
lutely  helpless,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

I  could  feel  the  tears  near  my  eyes,  as  I  gently 
touched  the  puckered  baby  face  with  a  bit  of  lace. 

"  There  was  only  one  chance  in  ten  thousand 
millions  that  I  should  come  here,"  went  on  Jack, 
apologetically.  "  It's  tough  on  you,  Clarissa.  Do 
you  think  that  you  can  stand  it?  I've  heard  the 
nurse  say  that  I  make  a  pretty  good  baby." 

I  sat  speechless  for  a  time,  trying  to  adapt 
myself  to  new  conditions  so  startling  and  fantas 
tic  that  I  expected  to  waken  presently  from  a 
dream — a  dream  that  promised  to  become  a  night- 
282 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

mare.  But  there  was  an  infernal  realism  about 
the  whole  affair  that  had  impressed  me  from  the 
first.  Jack's  matter-of-fact  way  of  accepting  the 
situation  was  so  strikingly  characteristic  of  him 
that  I  had  felt,  at  once,  a  strong  temptation  to 
laugh  aloud. 

"  I  want  you  to  make  me  a  promise,  Clarissa," 
he  said,  presently,  seizing  one  of  my  gloved  fin 
gers  with  his  fat  little  dimpled  hand  and  making 
queer  mouths,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  whistle. 
"You  won't  tell — ah — Tom,  will  you?  He 
wouldn't  understand  it  at  all.  I  don't  myself,  and 
I've  been  through  it,  don't  you  see?  In  a  way, 
of  course,  it's  mighty  bad  form.  I  know  that. 
I  feel  it  deeply.  But  I  was  powerless,  Clarissa. 
You  know  I  never  took  any  stock  in  those  Ori 
ental  philosophies.  I  was  always  laughing  at 
Buddhism,  metempsychosis,  and  that  kind  of 
thing.  But  there's  really  something  in  it,  don't 
you  think?  Keep  quiet,  will  you?  You're  shak 
ing  me  up  again." 

"  There's  more  in  it  than  I  had  ever  imagined, 
283 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Jack,"  I  remarked,  gloomily.  "  Of  course,  I'll 
say  nothing  to  Tom  about  it.  It'll  have  to  be 
our  secret.  I  understand  that." 

"  You'll  have  to  be  very  careful  about  what 
you  call  me  before  people,  Clarissa,"  said  the 
baby,  presently.  "My  name's  Horatio,  isn't  it? 
What  the  dickens  did  you  call  me  that  for?  I 
always  hated  the  name  Horatio." 

"  It  was  Tom's  choice,"  I  murmured.  "  I'm 
sorry  you  don't  like  it — Jack." 

"  If  you  called  me  '  Jack  '  for  short — no,  that 
wouldn't  do.  Tom  wouldn't  like  it,  would  he? 
Your  handkerchief  again,  please.  Thank  you, 
my  dear.  By  the  way,  Clarissa,  I  wish  you'd 
tell  the  nurse  that  she  gets  my  bath  too  hot  in 
the  morning.  I'd  like  a  cold  shower,  if  she 
doesn't  mind." 

"  You'll  have  to  adapt  yourself  to  circum 
stances,  my  child,"  I  remarked,  wearily,  wonder 
ing  if  this  horrible  ordeal  would  never  come  to 
an  end.  I  longed  to  get  away  by  myself,  to  think 
284 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

it  all  over  and  quiet  my  nerves,  if  possible,  be 
fore  I  should  be  forced  to  meet  Tom  at  dinner. 

"  Adapt  myself  to  circumstances !  "  exclaimed 
Jack,  bitterly,  kicking  savagely  with  his  tiny  feet 
at  his  long  white  gown.  "  Don't  get  sarcastic, 
Clarissa,  or  I'll  yell.  If  I  told  the  nurse  the 
truth,  where'd  you  be?" 

"  Jack ! "  I  cried,  in  consternation.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  hideous  threat  in  his  words. 

"  You'd  better  call  me  Horatio,  for  practice," 
he  said,  calmly,  but  I  could  feel  him  chuckling 
against  my  arm.  "  I'll  get  used  to  it  after  a 
time.  But  it's  a  fool  name,  just  the  same.  How 
about  the  cold  shower  ?  " 

"  Jack,"  I  said,  angrily,  "  I'll  put  you  in  your 
crib  and  leave  you  alone  in  the  dark  if  you  an 
noy  me.  You  must  be  good !  Your  nurse  knows 
what  kind  of  a  bath  you  should  have." 

"  And  she'll  know  who  I  am,  if  you  leave  me 

here  alone,  Clarissa,"  he  exclaimed,  doubling  up 

his  funny  little  fists  and  shaking  them  in  the  air. 

"  I've  got  the  whip-hand  of  you,  my  dear,  even 

285 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

if  I  am  only  a  baby.  By  the  way,  Clarissa,  how 
old  am  I?" 

"  Eight  months,  Jack,"  I  managed  to  answer,  a 
chill  sensation  creeping  over  me,  as  the  shadows 
deepened  in  the  room  and  a  mysterious  horror 
clutched  at  my  heart.  I  am  not  a  dreamer  by 
temperament;  I  am,  in  fact,  rather  practical  and 
commonplace  in  my  mental  tendencies,  but  there 
was  something  awful  in  the  revelation  made  to 
me  which  seemed  to  change  my  whole  attitude 
toward  the  universe  and  filled  me,  for  the  mo 
ment,  with  a  novel  dread  of  my  surroundings.  I 
was  recalled  sharply  to  a  less  fantastic  mood  by 
Jack's  querulous  voice : 

"  Will  you  stop  shaking,  Clarissa  ?  "  he  cried, 
petulantly.  "  You  make  me  feel  like  a  milk-bot 
tle  with  delirium  tremens.  Call  the  nurse,  will 
you  ?  She  hasn't  got  palsy  in  her  knees.  I  want 
to  go  to  sleep." 

At  that  instant  the  nurse  bustled  into  the  room, 
apologizing  for  her  long  absence. 

"  I'm  going  to  make  a  slight  change  in  his  diet, 
286 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

Mrs.  Minturn/'  she  explained,  taking  Jack  from 
my  arms  and  gazing  down  with  professional  sat 
isfaction  at  his  cherubic  face.  "  He's  in  fine  con 
dition — aren't  you,  you  tunnin'  'ittle  baby  boy? 
But  he's  old  enough  to  have  a  bit  of  variety  now 
and  then.  There  are  several  preparations  that 
I've  found  very  satisfactory  in  other  cases,  and 
I've  ordered  one  of  them  for — there,  there,  'ittle 
Horatio!  Don't  'oo  cry!  Kiss  'oo  mamma,  and 
then  'oo'll  go  seepy-bye." 

As  I  bent  down  to  press  my  lips  against  the 
baby's  fat  cheeks,  I  caught  a  gleam  in  his  eyes 
that  the  nurse  could  not  see,  and,  unless  my  ears 
deceived  me,  Jack  whispered  "  Damn !  "  under  his 
breath. 


287 


CHAPTER  II. 

A    FOND    FATHER. 

As  in  the  world  of  dream  whose  mystic  shades 
Are  cast  by  still  more  mystic  substances, 
We  ofttimes  have  an  unreflecting  sense, 
A  silent  consciousness  of  some  things  past. 

— Richard  Monckton  Milnes. 

I  REMEMBER  that  Tom  impressed  me  as  an  ex 
tremely  handsome  man,  as  he  faced  me  across  the 
dinner-table  and  smilingly  congratulated  me  on 
my  appearance. 

"  You  must  have  had  an  interesting  day,  Clare. 
You  look  very  animated.  I  am  so  glad  that  you 
are  beginning  to  get  around  a  bit.  There's  a 
golden  mean,  you  know.  A  woman  should  be 
come  a  slave  to  neither  society  nor  the  nursery." 

I  realized  that  there  was  an  abnormal  vivacity 
in  my  manner  as  I  added :     "  Nor  to  her  hus 
band,  Tom.     Do  you  accept  the  amendment  ?  " 
288 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"  Do  you  imply  that  I  am  inclined  to  be  tyran 
nical,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  laughingly.  "It's 
not  that,  Clare.  But  I  can't  help  being  jealous 
of  you.  How's  the  baby  ?  " 

My  wine-glass  trembled  in  my  hand,  and  I 
replaced  it  on  the  table,  not  daring  to  raise  it  to 
my  lips.  "  He  grows  more  interesting  every 
day,  Tom,"  I  answered,  truthfully.  "  You  don't 
appreciate  him."  I  wanted  to  laugh  hysterically, 
but  managed  to  control  myself. 

"Don't  I,  though?"  cried  Tom,  protestingly. 
"  He's  the  finest  boy  that  ever  happened,  Clare, 
and  I'm  the  proudest  father.  But  I  don't  believe 
in  a  man's  making  an  ass  of  himself  all  over 
the  place  because  there's  a  baby  in  the  house. 
After  all,  it's  hereditary,  so  to  speak,  and  quite 
common." 

I  glanced  at  the  butler,  but  his  wooden  face 
showed  no  comprehension  of  the  bad  taste  of 
Tom's  remarks.  I  was  glad  of  that,  for  Tom 
has  earned  a  reputation  among  all  classes  for  al 
ways  saying  and  doing  the  right  thing  at  the 
289 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

right  time.  I  could  not  help  wondering  how  he 
would  act  if  I  should  tell  him  over  our  coffee 
that  my  first  husband  was  in  the  nursery,  doomed 
to  another  round  of  earthly  experience  in  the  out 
ward  seeming  of  Horatio  Minturn. 

"  Forgive  me,  Clare,"  implored  Tom,  misin 
terpreting  the  expression  of  my  face.  "  I  didn't 
intend  to  hurt  your  feelings,  my  dear.  And  you 
mustn't  do  me  an  injustice.  You  have  hinted 
several  times  of  late  that  I  am  not  as  fond  of  the 
baby  as  I  should  be.  Now,  I  know  exactly  what 
you  mean,  and  I — " 

"  Suppose,  Tom,  that  we  defer  further  discus 
sion  of  the  subject  until  later  on,"  I  suggested, 
realizing  that  I  was  losing  rapidly  my  grip  on 
my  nerves.  "  Tell  me  about  your  day.  Where 
have  you  been?  What  have  you  done?  Whom 
have  you  seen  ?  " 

It  was  not  until  we  were  seated  in  the  smoking- 
room  and  Tom  had  lighted  a  long  black  cigar  that 
he  returned  to  a  topic  I  had  learned  to  dread. 
Heretofore,  Tom's  interest  in  the  baby  had 
290 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

seemed  to  me  to  be  intermittent  and  never  very 
intense.  To-night  is  struck  me  as  persistent  and 
painfully  strong. 

"  What  I  was  going  to  say,  Clare,  when  you 
interrupted  me  at  the  table,"  he  recommenced, 
gazing  at  me  thoughtfully  through  a  nimbus  of 
tobacco  smoke,  "  was  this :  Theoretically,  I  am 
a  fond  and  enthusiastic  father;  practically,  I 
haven't  seen  the  baby  more  than  a  dozen 
times — and  he  has  always  yelled  at  sight  of 
me." 

I  laughed  aloud,  nervously,  and  Tom's  glance 
had  in  it  much  astonishment  and  a  little  annoy 
ance. 

"It's  hardly  a  subject  for  merriment,  is  it?" 
he  queried,  coldly.  "  You  accuse  me  of  not  ap 
preciating  Horatio.  May  I  ask  you,  my  dear, 
when  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  his 
— ah — good  points,  so  to  speak?  To  be  frank 
with  you,  Clare,  and  to  paraphrase  a  popular 
song,  '  all  babies  look  alike  to  me.'  ' 

"  But  there  are  great  differences  among  them, 
291 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

Tom,"  I  cried,  impulsively;  and  again  a  touch  of 
hysteria  got  into  my  voice. 

"  And  ours,  of  course,  is  the  finest  in  the 
world,"  he  remarked,  good-naturedly.  "  But 
what  I  was  getting  at,  Clara,  is  this:  I  want  to 
become  better  acquainted  with  the  boy.  He's  old 
enough  now,  isn't  he,  to  begin  to — what  is  it  they 
call  it  ? — take  notice  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  managed  to  answer,  without 
breaking  down.  If  Tom  would  only  change  the 
subject !  But  how  could  I  lead  his  mind  to  other 
things?  Surely,  I  couldn't  tell  him  flatly  that 
hereafter  the  baby  must  be  a  tabooed  topic  be 
tween  us,  that  there  really  was  not  any  Horatio, 
that  the  law  of  pyschic  evolution  through  re 
peated  reincarnations  was  making  in  our  nursery 
a  demonstration  unprecedented  in  our  knowledge 
of  the  race.  All  that  I  could  do  was  to  sit  silent, 
pressing  my  cold  hands  together,  and  endeavor 
to  prevent  Tom  from  observing  my  increasing 
agitation. 

"  He  sits  up  and  takes  notice,"  repeated  Tom, 
292 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

as  if  proud  of  his  old  nurse's  phrase.  "  Well, 
it's  about  time  that  Horatio  ceased  to  treat  me 
with  that  antagonistic  uproariousness  that  has 
characterized  his  demeanor  hitherto  in  my  pres 
ence.  I  have  decided  to  cultivate  his  acquaint 
ance,  Clare,  and  I  need  your  help." 

"  He's — he's  very  young,  Tom,"  I  remarked, 
catching  at  a  straw  as  I  sank. 

"  I  actually  believe  that  you're  jealous  of  the 
boy,  my  dear,"  cried  Tom,  laughingly.  "  Frank 
ly,  I'm  greatly  disappointed  at  your  reception 
of  my  suggestion.  You're  so  illogical,  Clare! 
In  one  breath  you  charge  me  with  lack  of  appre 
ciation  of  the  baby,  and  in  the  next  you  intimate 
that  he's  too  young  to  endure  my  society.  You 
place  me  in  a  very  awkward  position.  I  had 
honestly  thought  to  please  you,  but  I  seem  to  have 
made  a  mess  of  it." 

I  was  sorry  for  Tom,  and  realized  that  the  ac 
cusation  he  had  made  against  me  was  just.     For 
a  moment  the  mad  project  flashed  through  my 
mind  of  telling  him  the  whole  truth,  the  weird, 
293 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

absurd,  unprecedented  fact  that  lay  at  the  bot 
tom  of  my  apparent  inconsistency.  But  the  in 
stant  that  the  thought  took  shape  in  unspoken 
words  I  rejected  it  as  wildly  impracticable. 
Furthermore,  there  had  come  to  me,  under  the 
matter-of-fact  influences  surrounding  me,  a  possi 
bility  that  appealed  to  me  as  founded  on  common 
sense.  Was  it  not  reasonable  to  suppose  that  I 
had  been  the  victim  before  dinner  of  overwrought 
nerves,  of  an  hallucination  that  could  be  readily 
explained  by  purely  scientific  methods?  I  had 
gone  to  the  nursery  worn  out  by  social  exertions 
to  which  I  had  not  been  recently  accustomed. 
Alone  with  the  baby  in  the  twilight,  would  it  have 
been  strange  if  I  had  fallen  asleep  for  a  moment 
and  had  dreamed  that  the  child  was  talking  to 
me?  As  I  looked  back  upon  the  episode  at  this 
moment,  it  appeared  to  me  more  like  the  vagary 
of  a  transient  doze  than  an  actual  occurrence. 
Even  the  "  Damn ! "  that  had  seemed  to  issue 
from  Horatio's  tiny  mouth  as  I  had  kissed  his 
cheek  might  have  been  merely  the  tag-end  of  an 
294 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

interrupted  nightmare,  the  reflex  action  of  my 
disordered  nervous  system. 

"  You  haven't  made  a  mess  of  it,  Tom,"  I 
said,  presently,  "  and  you  have  pleased  me.  The 
baby's  old  enough  to — to — " 

"  To  find  my  companionship  bracing  and  en 
lightening?  "  suggested  Tom,  merrily. 

"  Yes,  he's  old  enough  for  that,"  I  answered, 
lightly,  glad  to  feel  the  fog  of  my  uncanny  im 
pressions  disappearing  before  the  sunlight  of  a 
rising  conviction.  With  every  minute  that 
passed  thus  gaily  in  Tom's  companionship,  the 
certainty  grew  on  me  that  in  the  nursery  I  had 
been  the  prey  of  nervous  exhaustion,  not  the  help 
less  protagonist  of  a  startling  psychic  drama. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Clare,"  remarked 
Tom,  toward  the  close  of  an  evening  that  had 
grown  constantly  more  enjoyable  to  me  as  time 
passed,  for,  as  I  playfully  misquoted  to  myself, 
Horatio  was  himself  again,  "  I'll  tell  you  what 
we'll  do.  I'll  come  home  to  luncheon  to-mor 
row  and  we'll  have  the  baby  down  from  the  nurs- 
295 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ery.  I  suppose  we're  all  out  of  high  chairs;  but 
you  can  telephone  for  one  in  the  morning,  my 
dear." 

"  But,  Tom,  Horatio  is — is  only  eight  months 
old,"  I  protested.  "  He — he  doesn't  know  how 
to  act  at  the  table." 

"  Well,  I'll  teach  him,  then,"  cried  Tom,  pa 
ternally.  "  He  needs  a  few  lessons  in  manners, 
Clare.  He  has  always  treated  me  with  the  most 
astounding  rudeness.  It's  really  time  for  him  to 
come  under  my  influence,  don't  you  think?  Of 
course,  I  may  be  wrong.  I  don't  know  much 
about  these  matters,  but  I  can  learn  a  thing  or 
two  by  experimenting  with  Horatio." 

"  He  doesn't  like  his — "  I  began,  impulsively, 
and  then  laughed,  rather  foolishly.  The  influ 
ence  of  my  dream,  it  appeared,  was  still  upon  me. 

"Doesn't  like  what?"  asked  Tom,  eying  me 
searchingly,  evidently  surprised  at  my  untimely 
hilarity. 

"  Game  and  salads  and  other  luncheon  things," 
I  explained,  adroitly,  suddenly  glad  that  the  even- 
296 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

ing  was  at  an  end  and  that  I  could  soon  quiet  my 
throbbing  nerves  by  sleep. 

"  We'll  have  some  bread  and  milk  for  him," 
suggested  Tom,  hospitably.  "  Maybe  he  won't 
yell  at  me  if  we  give  him  something  to  eat — some 
thing  in  his  line,  you  know." 

Again  I  succumbed  to  temptation  and  laughed 
aloud.  "  How  little  you  know  about  babies, 
Tom,"  I  remarked,  in  my  most  superior  way;  but 
even  as  I  spoke  the  horrible  suspicion  crept  over 
me  again  that  I,  also,  might  have  much  to  learn 
about  my  own  little  boy. 


297 


CHAPTER  III. 

MY    FIRST    AND    SECOND. 

Sometimes  a  breath  floats  by  me, 

An  odor  from  Dreamland  sent, 
Which  makes  the  ghost  seem  nigh  me 

Of  a  something  that  came  and  went. 

—James  Russell  Lowell. 

I  LUNCHED  with  Tom  and  Jack  the  next  day. 
It  was  an  appalling  function,  driving  me  to  the 
very  verge  of  hysteria  and  destroying  forever  my 
belief  in  my  dream  theory.  My  first  husband  sat 
in  his  new  high  chair,  pounding  the  table  with 
a  spoon,  as  if  calling  the  meeting  to  order,  while 
my  second  husband  sat  gazing  at  the  baby  with 
a  fatuous  smile  on  his  handsome  face  that  testi 
fied  to  his  inability  to  rise  to  the  situation.  Be 
hind  the  baby's  chair  stood  his  nurse,  evidently 
prepared  to  defend  her  prerogatives  as  the  pro 
tector  of  the  child's  health.  Lurking  in  the  back- 
298 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

ground  was  the  phlegmatic  butler,  no  better 
pleased  than  the  nurse  at  this  experiment  of 
Tom's. 

"That's  it!  Go  it,  Horatio!"  cried  Tom, 
nervously.  "  Hit  the  table  again,  my  boy. 
That's  what  it's  for." 

"  I  thought  that  your  idea,  Tom,  was  to  teach 
Horatio  how  to  behave  in  public,"  I  suggested, 
playfully,  still  calm  in  the  belief  that  I  had  been 
deceived  in  the  nursery  by  a  dream. 

"  But  as  you  said,  Clare,"  argued  Tom,  "  he's 
very  young.  It's  really  not  bad  form,  you  know, 
for  a  baby  to  pound  a  table  with  a  spoon.  Is  it, 
nurse?  " 

"  I  think  not,  sir,"  answered  the  nurse,  push 
ing  the  high  chair  back  to  its  place.  The  baby 
had  kicked  it  away  from  the  table  while  Tom  was 
speaking. 

"  Isn't  he — isn't  he  rather — ah — nervous,  my 
dear  ?  "  asked  Tom,  glancing  at  me  with  paternal 
solicitude.     "  It's  quite  normal,  this — ah — tend 
ency  to  bang  things — and  kick?  " 
299 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Perhaps  he's  hungry,  Tom,"  I  suggested, 
lightly.  My  spirits  were  rising.  In  the  pres 
ence  of  the  baby,  whose  appearance  and  manner 
were  those  of  a  healthy  child  something  under  a 
year  in  age,  the  absurdity  of  my  recent  incipient 
nightmare  was  so  evident  that  I  blushed  at  the 
recollection  of  my  nonsensical  panic.  Reincarna 
tion?  Bah!  what  silly  rubbish  we  do  get  from 
the  far  East ! 

"  Of  course  he's  hungry,"  assented  Tom, 
glancing  down  at  a  bird  the  butler  had  put  before 
him.  "  With  your  permission,  nurse,  I'll  give 
the  youngster  a  square  meal.  How  would  a  bit 
of  the  breast  from  this  partridge  do?  It's  very 
tender  and  digestible — " 

"How  absurd,  Tom!"  I  cried.  "He'd 
choke!" 

"  He's  choking  as  it  is !  "  exclaimed  Tom,  half 
rising  from  his  chair.  "  Pat  him  on  the  back, 
nurse ! " 

"  He's  all  right,  sir,"  said  the  nurse,  calmly  as 
Horatio's  cheeks  lost  their  sudden  flush  and  he 
300 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

opened  his  pretty  little  eyes  again.  "  You 
needn't  worry,  Mr.  Minturn.  He's  in  perfect 
health,  sir." 

"Aren't  they  queer?"  exclaimed  Tom,  glanc 
ing  at  me,  laughingly. 

"  Sir?"  cried  the  nurse  in  pained  amazement. 

"  I  meant  babies,  nurse,"  explained  Tom,  sooth 
ingly,  motioning  to  the  disaffected  butler  to  re 
fill  his  wine-glass.  "But  look  here,  Clare;  you 
and  I  are  eating  and  drinking  heartily,  but  poor 
little  Horatio  is  still  the  hungry  victim  of  a 
dietary  debate.  What  is  he  to  have? — milk?  " 

The  baby  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  seized 
his  empty  silver  bowl  with  a  chubby  hand,  and 
hurled  it  to  the  floor. 

"  Horatio ! "  Tom's  voice  was  stern  as  he 
scowled  at  the  mischievous  youngster.  I  could 
not  refrain  from  laughing  aloud. 

"  Is  that  bad  form,  Tom,  for  a  little  baby  ?  "  I 
asked,  mischievously. 

"  No,"  answered  Tom,  repentantly.  "  I  don't 
blame  you  at  all,  Horatio.  Your  prejudice,  my 
301 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

boy,  against  an  empty  bowl  when  you  are  both 
hungry  and  thirsty  is  not  unnatural.  Give  him 
some  bread  and  milk,  nurse,  or  he'll  overturn  the 
table.  What  a  wonderful  study  it  is,  Clare,  to 
watch  a  baby  develop!  Do  you  know,  Horatio 
is  actually  able  to  grasp  a  syllogism !  " 

"  Or  a  milk-bowl,"  I  added. 

"  Don't  interrupt  my  scientific  train  of 
thought,"  protested  Tom,  gazing  musingly  at  the 
child.  "  I  saw  his  mind  at  work  just  now.  I'm 
hungry/  thought  Horatio.  '  There's  my  silver 
bowl.  The  bowl  is  empty.  There  are  bread  and 
milk  in  the  house.  If  I  throw  the  empty  bowl 
to  the  floor,  my  nurse  will  return  it  to  me  filled 
with  food.  So  here  goes!  Q.  E.  D.'  Clever 
baby,  isn't  he?" 

It  was  at  that  moment  I  met  the  baby's  eyes, 
and  a  sharp  chill  ran  down  my  back  and  found 
its  way  to  my  finger-tips.  There  was  an  expres 
sion  in  the  child's  troubled  gaze  so  eloquent  that 
its  meaning  flashed  upon  me  at  once.  If  the  baby 
had  cried  aloud,  "  What  an  amazing  fool  that 
302 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

man  is !  "  I  could  not  have  been  more  sure  than  I 
was  of  the  thought  that  had  passed  through  his 
infantile  mind. 

"What's  the  matter,  Clare?"  I  heard  Tom 
asking  me,  apprehensively.  "  Do  you  feel 
faint?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  hastened  to  say,  turning  my 
eyes  from  my  first  to  my  second  husband.  The 
former  was  eating  bread  and  milk — reluctantly, 
it  seemed  to  me — from  a  spoon  manipulated  by 
his  nurse.  That  it  was  really  Jack  who  was  sit 
ting  there  in  a  high  chair,  doomed  to  swallow 
baby  food  while  he  craved  partridge  and  Bur 
gundy  was  a  conviction  that  had  come  to  me  for 
a  fleeting  moment,  to  be  followed  by  a  return  to 
conventional  common  sense  and  a  renewed  satis 
faction  in  my  environment.  Tom  sat  opposite 
me,  smiling  contentedly,  while  between  us,  at  a 
side  of  the  table,  the  baby  perfunctorily  absorbed 
a  simple  but  nutritious  diet,  deftly  presented  to 
his  tiny  mouth  by  his  attentive  nurse.  It  was  a 
charming  scene  of  domestic  bliss  at  that  moment, 

303 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

and  I  realized  clearly  how  much  I  had  to  lose  by 
giving  way,  even  intermittently,  to  the  wretched 
hallucinations  that  my  overwrought  nerves 
begot. 

"  Just  look  at  him,  Clare !  "  exclaimed  Tom, 
presently.  "  I  tell  you  it's  an  interesting  study. 
It's  elevating  and  enlightening,  my  dear.  To  an 
evolutionist  there's  a  world  of  meaning  in  that 
baby's  enthusiasm  for  bread  and  milk.  Here  he 
sits  at  the  table  covered  with  gastronomic  lux 
uries  and  actually  rejoices  in  the  simplest  kind  of 
food.  You  see,  Clare,  how  well  the  difference 
between  Horatio  and  myself  in  regard  to  diet  il 
lustrates  Spencer's  definition  of  evolution  as  a 
continuous  change  from  indefinite,  incoherent  ho 
mogeneity  to  definite,  coherent  heterogeneity 
through  successive  differentiations  and  integra 
tions.  Great  Scott,  nurse!  What's  the  matter 
with  him  ?  He's  choking  again !  " 

"  It's  nothing,  sir,"  remarked  the  nurse,  quietly, 
as  the  baby  recovered  from  a  fit  of  coughing  and 
resumed  his  meal.  "  But,  if  you'll  pardon  the  re- 
304 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

mark,  sir,  I  think  that  he's  much  better  off  in  the 
nursery." 

It  was  not  a  tactful  suggestion,  and  I  knew 
that  Tom  felt  hurt;  but  he  maintained  his  self- 
control  and  made  no  further  comment,  merely 
glancing  at  me  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes.  I  real 
ized,  with  a  vague  uneasiness,  that  open  and  ac 
tive  hostilities  between  baby's  nurse  and  Tom 
were  among  the  possibilities  of  the  near  future, 
and  it  was  not  a  pleasing  thought. 

"What  does  he  top  off  with?"  asked  Tom, 
presently,  grinning  at  Horatio,  who  had  emptied 
his  bowl  and  had  stuck  a  fist  into  his  rosebud 
mouth,  as  if  still  hungry.  "  Have  you  got  an  ice 
for  him,  James?  " 

The  butler  stood  motionless,  gazing  fixedly  at 
the  nurse. 

"  What  queer  ideas  you  have,  Tom !  "  I  cried, 
to  break  the  strain  of  an  uncomfortable  situation. 
"  An  ice  would  give  him  an  awful  pain." 

"Perhaps  he'd  like  a  Welsh  rabbit,  then?" 
growled  Tom,  crossly. 

305 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

The  baby  seized  a  spoon  and  rapped  gleefully 
on  the  table. 

"  Isn't  he  cunning ! "  I  cried,  delightedly. 
"He's  happy  now,  isn't  he?  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  Tom,  that  he'd  rather  have  a  nap  than  a 
rabbit." 

"  Not  on  your  life !  "  came  a  deep,  gruff  voice 
from  nowhere  in  particular.  I  looked  at  Tom  in 
amazement,  thinking  that  he  had  playfully  dis 
guised  his  tones  and  was  poking  fun  at  me  and 
the  baby.  But  Tom's  expression  of  wonderment 
was  as  genuine  as  my  own,  while  the  nurse  was 
gazing  over  her  shoulder  at  the  butler,  who  was 
eying  us  all  in  a  bewildered  way.  Tom  glanced 
at  the  nurse. 

"  Leave  the  room,  James,"  he  said  hotly.  "  I'll 
see  you  later  in  the  smoking-room."  Then,  to 
the  nurse:  "Remove  the  baby,  will  you,  please? 
Thank  you  for  letting  us  have  him  for  an 
hour." 

As  soon  as  we  were  alone  in  the  dining-room, 
Tom  leaned  toward  me  and  said :  "  Shall  I  dis- 
306 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

charge  James,  my  dear?  He  was  most  infer 
nally  impudent,  to  put  it  mildly." 

But  the  frightful  certainty  had  come  to  me  that 
the  butler  was  innocent  of  any  wrong-doing.  Ab 
surd  as  the  bald  statement  of  fact  seemed  to  be, 
my  first  husband  was  the  guilty  man,  and,  strug 
gle  as  I  might  against  the  conviction,  I  knew  it. 

"  Give  him  another  chance,  Tom,"  I  managed 
to  say,  my  voice  unsteady  and  my  tongue  parched. 
"  James  was  not  quite  himself,  I  imagine.  I'm 
not  well,  Tom.  Give  me  a  swallow  of  cognac, 
will  you,  please?  " 

Tom,  alarmed  at  my  voice  and  face,  hastily 
handed  me  a  stimulant,  and  presently  I  felt  my 
courage  and  my  color  coming  back  to  me. 


307 


CHAPTER  IV. 

NURSERY    CONFESSIONS. 

The  priceless  sight 

Springs  to  its  curious  organ,  ana  the  ear 
Learns  strangely  to  detect  the  articulate  air 
In  its  unseen  divisions,  and  the  tongue 
Gets  its  miraculous  lesson  with  the  rest. 

— N.  P.  Willis. 


I  LONGED,  yet  dreaded,  to  have  an  hour  alone 
with  the  baby.  I  could  no  longer  doubt  that, 
through  some  psychical  mischance,  Jack's  soul 
had  found  a  lodgment  in  a  family  hospitable  by 
habit  and  inclination,  but  not  accustomed  to  dis 
quieting  intrusions.  It  was  thus  that  I  put  the 
matter  to  myself,  as  I  sat  alone  in  my  boudoir 
after  luncheon,  having  dismissed  Marie,  my  maid, 
with  a  message  to  Horatio's  nurse;  and  the  con 
ventional  make-up  of  my  thought  revealed  to  me, 
in  a  flash  of  insight,  the  materialistic  tendencies 
308 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

of  my  mental  methods.  Metempsychosis  had 
never  assumed  to  my  mind  the  dignity  of  even 
a  philosophical  working  hypothesis.  Much  less 
had  the  idea  ever  come  to  me  that  reincarnation 
actually  furnished  a  process  through  which  the 
physical  laws  of  evolution  and  the  conservation 
of  energy  might  find  a  psychical  demonstration. 
My  natural  inclination  to  take  the  world  as  I 
found  it,  and  to  leave  the  inner  mysteries  of  life 
to  profounder  minds  than  mine,  had  been  intensi 
fied  by  my  association  with  Tom,  a  disciple  of 
Haeckel,  Buchner  and  other  extremists  of  the 
materialistic  school.  I  had  come  to  admire 
Tom's  intellectuality  and  to  find  satisfaction  in  the 
fact  that  his  fondness  for  scientific  studies  would 
strengthen  him  to  resist  the  temptations  that  sur 
rounded  him  to  become  a  mere  man  of  leisure 
and  luxury.  Possessed  of  great  wealth  and  with 
out  a  profession,  it  was  fortunate  for  Tom  that 
he  had  found  in  scientific  research  an  outlet  for 
his  superabundant  energies.  He  had  begun  to 
make  a  reputation  for  himself  as  a  clear-headed, 
309 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

well-balanced  evolutionist,  both  conservative  in 
method  and  progressive  in  spirit,  and  at  our  table 
could  be  found  at  times  the  leading  scientific 
minds  of  New  York.  And  now,  into  our  little 
stronghold  of  enlightened  materialism  had  been 
dropped  a  miraculous  mystery,  or  mysterious 
miracle,  that  had  overthrown  all  my  precori-r 
ceived  ideas  of  the  universe  and  opened  before  me 
a  limitless  field  of  groping  conjecture.  I  real 
ized,  with  due  gratitude  to  fate,  that  if  I  had  been 
born  with  an  imaginative,  poetical  temperament 
my  present  predicament  would  have  driven  me 
insane  at  the  outset.  Fortunately  for  everybody 
concerned,  I  am  a  woman  who  rebounds  quickly 
from  the  severest  nervous  shock,  and  I  have  taken 
a  great  deal  of  pride  in  retaining  my  mental  poise 
in  crises  of  my  life  that  would  have  made  hysteria 
excusable. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  a  severe  test  of  my  nerv 
ous  strength  to  hold  Horatio  in  my  arms  at  four 
o'clock  that  afternoon  and  watch  his  nurse  don 
ning  her  coat  and  hat  preparatory  to  a  short  ride 
310 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

with  Marie.  I  had  carefully  planned  this  oppor 
tunity  for  an  uninterrupted  hour  with  the  baby, 
but  now  that  it  lay  just  before  me  I  longed  to  run 
away  from  it.  The  nursery  had  become  to  me 
a  temple  of  mysteries  within  which  I  felt  chilled 
and  awe-stricken,  a  victim  of  supernatural 
forces  against  which  I  was  both  rebellious  and 
powerless. 

After  the  nurse  had  left  the  room  I  seated  my 
self  in  a  rocking-chair,  cuddling  Horatio  in  my 
arms  and  softly  humming  a  lullaby,  attempting 
to  deceive  myself  by  the  thought  that  I  really 
wished  him  to  sleep  for  an  hour.  In  my  inner 
most  consciousness  lay  the  conviction  that  I  had 
actually  come  to  the  nursery  for  a  heart-to-heart 
talk  with  Jack.  My  deepest  desire  was  to  be 
quickly  gratified.  A  gruff  whisper  came  to  me 
presently  from  his  pretty  lips. 

"  Stop  that  '  bye-bye,  baby/  will  you,  Clar 
issa  ? "  he  said,  petulantly.  "  Haven't  I  had 
enough  annoyance  for  one  day  ?  " 

"Hush!  hush!"  I  murmured,  rocking  franti- 


Perkins,  the  Fakecr. 

cally  in  the  effort  to  put  the  child  to  sleep,  despite 
my  realization  of  the  utter  inconsistency  of  my 
action. 

"  Don't !  don't !  "  growled  the  baby.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  have  mal-de-mer,  Clarissa?  I 
can't  be  responsible  for  what  may  happen. 
Where  did  everybody  get  the  notion  that  a  baby 
must  be  shaken  after  taking?  It's  getting  to  be 
an  unbearable  nuisance,  Clarissa." 

"Is  that  better,  Jack?"  I  whispered,  holding 
him  upright  on  my  knees  and  peering  down  into 
his  disturbed  face,  puckered  into  a  little  knot,  as 
if  he  were  about  to  cry  aloud. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  muttered,  gratefully.  "  Un 
der  the  circumstances,  my  dear,  perhaps  it's  well 
that  I  didn't  get  that  Welsh  rabbit.  But,  frankly, 
I  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  the  moment." 

"  What  can  you  expect,  Jack?  "  I  asked,  argu- 
mentatively,  again  astonished  at  the  matter-of- 
fact  way  in  which  I  was  handling  this  astounding 
crisis.  "  You  seem  to  have  a  man's  appetite  but 
only  a  baby's  digestive  apparatus." 
312 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

*'  That's  my  punishment,  Clarissa,"  he  ex 
plained,  in  awe-struck  tones.  "  In  the  former 
cycle  I  ate  too  many  rabbits.  That  was  scored 
against  me,  under  the  general  head  of  '  Gluttony,' 
and  the  sub-title  '  Midnight  Unnecessaries.'  I'm 
up  against  it,  Clarissa.  I  wouldn't  complain  if  it 
were  merely  a  question  of  not  getting  what  I 
want.  But  it's  getting  what  I  don't  want  that 
jars  me.  You  understand,  of  course,  my  dear, 
that,  generally  speaking,  I  refer  to  milk.  Isn't 
there  something  in  its  place  that  you  could  per 
suade  the  nurse  to  give  me?  Don't  babies  get — 
cr — malt  extract,  for  instance?  " 

"  I'll  do  what  I  can  for  you,  Jack,"  I  said,  sud 
denly  struck  by  a  brilliant  idea.  "  But  I  must 
make  a  condition,  and  you  must  make  me  a  prom 
ise." 

"  I'd  promise  you  anything  for  a  change  of 
diet,"  muttered  Jack,  kicking  vigorously  with  his 
tiny  legs  and  waving  his  fat  fists  in  the  air. 

"  If  you'll  swear  to  me,  Jack,  never  to  speak 
aloud  again  unless  you  and  I  are  alone  together, 
313 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I'll  agree  to  make  every  effort  in  my  power  to 
add  to  your  physical  comforts." 

"  Comforts  be — blowed !  "  exclaimed  the  baby, 
crossly.  "  What  I  want  are  a  few  luxuries. 
And,  furthermore,  my  dear,  I'm  getting  very 
weary  of  that  machine-made  nurse.  She's  nar 
row,  Clarissa.  I  don't  wish  to  speak  harshly 
about  a  woman  whose  heart  seems  to  be  in  the 
right  place,  but  you  must  get  rid  of  her,  if  you 
care  a  continental  rap  about  your  little  baby. 
You'll  have  to  fill  her  place,  Clarissa,  with  some 
body  more  broad-minded  and  up-to-date.  She 
bores  me  to  death." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  you've  been  talking  to 
her,  Jack  ?  "  I  cried,  horrified. 

"  That's  not  necessary,"  growled  the  child. 
"  What  with  her  '  'ittle  baby  go  to  seepy,'  and 
'  now,  Horatio,  'oo  dear  'ittle  pet  lambie,'  she 
freezes  the  words  upon  my  tongue.  Another 
thing,  Clarissa,  that  you  can't  fully  understand 
— I'm  not  permitted,  through  psychological  con 
ditions  that  you  cannot  grasp,  to  talk  to  anybody 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

but  you.  It  will  relieve  your  mind  to  know  that 
I'm  as  dumb  as  a — as  a  real  baby  when  you're  not 
within  hearing." 

"  I'm  so  glad  of  that,  Jack/'  I  exclaimed,  im 
pulsively.  "  From  things  you've  said  before,  I 
had  obtained  a  different  impression." 

"  I  was  only  trying  to  scare  you,  Clarissa,"  re 
marked  Jack,  mischievously.  "  But  I've  told  you 
the  truth  at  last.  By  the  way,  what  a  stupendous 
idiot  Tom  Minturn  is!  How  in  the  world  did 
you  happen  to  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Jack,"  I  cried,  angrily,  "  I  am  amazed  at  your 
lack  of  good  taste.  You  are  hardly  in  a  position 
to  do  Tom  justice.  Unless  you  refrain  from 
making  such  brutal  remarks  in  the  future,  I  shall 
leave  you  entirely  to  the  care  of  the  nurse." 

"  And  be  accused  of  neglecting  your  only 
child,"  suggested  the  baby,  slyly. 

I  had  not  grasped  the  full  scope  of  this  clever 
remark,  before  I  was  startled  by  a  quick  step  in 
the  hallway,  the  throwing  open  of  the  door,  and 
the  sound  of  Tom's  voice,  crying : 

315 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are !  I've  found  you  at  last, 
have  I  ?  What  a  pretty  picture  you  make,  Clare, 
there  in  the  half-lights  with  the  baby  on  your 
knees.  How  is  the  dear  little  chap?  Poor  fel 
low,  he  must  have  thought  that  his  dismissal 
from  the  luncheon-table  was  rather  abrupt." 

"  What  an  ass  he  is !  "  whispered  Jack,  under 
his  breath.  Then  he  began  to  cry  lustily,  as  had 
been  his  custom  whenever  Tom  had  deigned  to 
enter  the  nursery. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    SPOILED    CHILD. 

Yes,  'tis  my  dire  misfortune  now 

To  hang  between  two  ties, 
To  hold  within  my  furrowed  brow 

The  earth's  clay,  and  the  skies. 

—  Victor  Hugo. 

TOM  had  come  to  the  nursery  in  high  spirits 
and  with  the  best  possible  intention.  Freed  from 
the  depressing  presence  of  the  nurse  and  butler 
he  had  argued,  I  felt  sure,  that  now  was  the  time 
for  a  frolic  with  the  baby  that  should  put  their 
relations  upon  a  smoother  footing.  He  had  said 
to  me,  more  than  once,  that  little  Horatio's  ap 
parent  prejudice  against  him  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  hirelings  were  always  coming  between  chil 
dren  and  parents  in  these  latter  days. 

The  baby's  voice,  however,  was  still  for  war. 
I  did  not  dare  to  trot  him  upon  my  knees,  know- 
317 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ing  his  prejudice  against  a  shaking,  so  I  sat  there 
gazing  up  at  Tom's  smiling  face  in  perplexity  and 
holding  my  first  husband,  now  howling  lustily, 
firmly  upright  on  my  lap. 

"  Let  me  take  him,  my  dear,"  suggested  Tom, 
with  what  struck  me  as  rather  artificial  enthusi 
asm.  "  I'll  walk  with  him  awhile.  It  may  quiet 
him." 

To  my  astonishment,  the  baby  stopped  crying 
at  once,  as  Tom  bent  down  and  clasped  him, 
rather  awkwardly,  in  his  arms.  Hope  began  to 
dance  merrily  in  my  heart,  and  I  laughed  aloud. 
It  was  a  sight  to  bring  smiles  to  the  saddest  face. 
Tom  paced  up  and  down  the  nursery,  sedately, 
furtively  watching  Jack,  as  he  nestled  against  his 
shoulder,  making  no  sound  and  apparently  con 
tented  for  the  moment  with  the  situation.  But 
a  sudden  fear  fell  upon  me.  The  thought  that  this 
might  be  the  calm  before  the  storm  flashed 
through  my  mind,  and  the  lightning  of  premoni 
tion  was  almost  instantly  followed  by  the  thunder 
of  fulfilment. 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"  What  the  dickens !  "  cried  Tom,  in  anger  and 
amazement.  Jack,  having  deftly  hurled  Tom's 
eyeglasses  to  the  floor,  had  begun  to  pummel  his 
nose  with  one  hand  while  he  pulled  his  hair  with 
the  other,  making  strange,  guttural  sounds  the 
while  that  were  unlike  anything  that  had  ever  is 
sued  from  his  baby  throat  before. 

"Take  him  away,  will  you,  Clare?"  implored 
Tom,  wildly.  "  He's  the  worst  that  ever  hap 
pened.  What's  the  matter  with  him?  " 

"  Perhaps  he's  sleepy,  Tom,"  I  suggested,  un 
certain  whether  I  should  laugh  or  weep,  as  I  re 
moved  the  baby  from  my  second  husband's  arms. 
"  What  a  bad  little  boy  you  have  been,  Horatio !  " 
I  managed  to  say,  chidingly,  wondering  if  nature 
had  not  designed  me  for  an  actress. 

"  He  ought  to  be  spanked,"  growled  Tom, 
bending  to  the  floor  to  grope  for  his  eye-glasses 
in  the  twilight. 

"  Spanked,  eh?  "  whispered  the  baby,  close  to 
my  ear.     "  We'll  see  about  that.     I've  got  it  in 
for  him,  all  right.     Just  wait !  " 
319 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"Hush!  hush!"  I  implored  him,  hurrying 
back  to  the  rocking-chair,  to  get  as  far  away  from 
Tom  as  possible. 

"  What  an  infernal  temper  the  boy  has,"  re 
marked  the  latter,  standing  erect  again  and  re 
placing  his  eye-glasses  upon  his  nose.  "  I'm 
afraid  my  visit  to  the  nursery  has  not  been  a  suc 
cess,  Clare,"  he  added,  as  he  stalked  to  the  door 
way,  evidently  sorely  hurt  at  heart. 

When  we  were  alone  together  again,  I  planted 
the  baby  firmly  on  my  knees  and  bent  down  till  I 
could  look  straight  into  his  tear-stained  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  unkind,  Jack,"  I  said  to  him, 
earnestly.  "  Have  you  ever  paused  to  consider 
what  are  you  here  for?  Of  course,  I'm  a  convert 
to  the  theory  of  reincarnation.  You're  sufficient 
proof  of  its  truth.  As  I  understand  it,  it  is  in 
cumbent  upon  you  to  lead  a  better  life  this  time 
than  you  led  before.  Frankly,  Jack,  you  aren't 
beginning  well." 

"  I  realize  that,  Clarissa,"  said  the  baby,  re 
pentantly.  "  If  I  don't  brace  up,  I'll  make  a  terri- 
320 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

ble  mess  of  it,  and  my  next  birth'll  be  sure  to  jar 
me.  Maybe  I'll  be  doomed  to  show  up  in  Brook 
lyn — or  even  Hoboken.  If  you  care  anything 
about  my — ah — psychical  future,  my  dear,  you'll 
keep  Tom  Minturn  away  from  me.  He's  so  con 
foundedly  patronizing!  He's  actually  insuffer 
able,  my  dear.  Did  you  hear  him  quoting  Her 
bert  Spencer  at  the  table,  gazing  at  me  all  the 
while  as  if  I  were  some  kind  of  a  germ  that  might 
develop  in  time?  And  the  funny  part  of  it  is, 
Clarissa,  that  I  am  a  sage,  and  he's  nothing  but  a 
misguided  ignoramus." 

"  But  Tom  has  the  reputation  of  being  quite 
learned,  Jack,"  I  protested.  "  He's  an  active 
member  of  the  Darwin  Society,  and  has  just  been 
elected  to  the  Association  for  the  Promulgation 
of  the  Doctrine  of  Evolution." 

"  '  And  the  dead,  steered  by  the  dumb,  moved 
upward  with  the  flood.'  "  quoted  the  baby,  some 
what  irrelevantly,  I  thought.  "  They  are  blind 
leaders  of  the  blind,  Clarissa.  I  could  tell  Tom 
in  a  minute  more  than  he'll  ever  know  if  he  al- 
321 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ways  clings  to  the  idea  that  the  universe  is  a 
machine  that  was  made  by  chance  and  is  run  by 
luck.  But  I  sha'n't  take  the  trouble  to  give  him 
the  tip.  He'll  know  a  thing  or  two  some  day. 
Meanwhile,  my  dear,  you'd  better  keep  him  away 
from  me.  If  worse  comes  to  the  worst  you 
might  send  me  to  some  institution.  I  realize, 
bitterly  enough,  that  I'll  be  an  awful  nuisance  to 
you  if  you  keep  me  here." 

I  felt  the  tears  coming  into  my  eyes,  and  im 
pulsively  I  drew  the  baby  closer  to  me.  I  was  in 
the  most  deplorable  predicament  that  my  imagina 
tion  could  conceive,  torn  by  conflicting  emotions 
and  horrified  by  the  awful  possibilities  presented 
to  me  by  the  immediate  future.  If  Tom,  through 
Jack's  hot  temper,  should  discover  the  truth,  and 
be  forced  suddenly  to  abandon  materialism  by 
coming  face  to  face  with  a  convincing  psychi 
cal  demonstration,  what  would  happen?  I 
shuddered,  there  in  the  gloaming,  as  my  mind 
dwelt  reluctantly  upon  the  unprecedented  perils 
menacing  my  happiness.  It  was  no  comfort  to 

•322 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

my  distraught  soul  to  realize  that,  in  all  proba 
bility,  no  woman,  since  the  world  began,  had  been 
afflicted  in  just  this  way.  Neither  was  there  any 
relief  in  the  conviction  that  I  had  been  in  no  way 
to  blame  for  this  incongruous  psychical  visitation. 

"  No,  I  couldn't  send  you  away,  Jack,"  I  said, 
musingly ;  "  that  is  practically  impossible.  We'll 
have  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  our  successful 
manipulation  of  the  situation  depends  almost 
wholly  upon  your  self-control.  You  must  adapt 
yourself  to  your  environment,  my  boy ;  become  a 
baby  in  fact  as  well  as  in  theory.  You'll  be  hap 
pier  that  way." 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense,  Clarissa,"  grumbled 
Jack,  kicking  viciously  at  his  long  clothes.  "  I'm 
the  victim  of  what  might  be  called  a  temporary 
maladjustment  of  the  machinery  of  psychical  evo 
lution.  Ordinarily,  a  baby  is  not  cognizant  of  a 
former  existence.  You  advise  me  to  forget  the 
past  and  remember  only  that  I  am  your  cunning 
little  eight-months-old  Horatio.  If  I  only  could ! 
It's  the  only  thing  that  could  give  me  permanent 
323 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

relief,  my  dear.  But  it's  not  possible.  Here  I 
am  doomed  to  a  kind  of  dual  punishment, 
ashamed  of  myself  as  Horatio  and  afraid  of  my 
self  as  Jack.  And  all  because  I  clogged  my  psy 
chical  progress  in  my  late  life  by  a  carnal  craving 
for  Welsh  rabbits !  It  sounds  absurd,  doesn't  it, 
when  one  puts  it  into  words  ?  But,  my  dear,  the 
sublime  and  the  ridiculous  are  as  close  together  in 
one  realm  of  existence  as  in  another.  Truth  has 
many  faces,  and  there's  always  a  grin  on  one  of 
them." 

"  I  think  that  I  hear  your  nurse  coming,  Jack," 
I  whispered.  "  Is  there  anything  that  I  can  do 
for  you?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  excitedly,  lowering  his 
voice,  however.  "  Do  you  think,  Clarissa,  that 
you  could  secrete  a  flask  of  bottled  cocktails  in 
the  room  somewhere?  I've  learned  a  thing  or 
two  of  late  that  might  prove  useful  to  me  if  I 
needed  a  stimulant  and  knew  where  to  find  it.  I 
can  raise  my  body  by  my  arms  and  hold  up  my 
whole  weight  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time.  I've 
324 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Bab}r. 

been  experimenting  at  night,  when  the  nurse  was 
asleep.  Tom's  an  evolutionist;  ask  him  about  it. 
He'll  explain  to  you  how  it  happens.  You'll 
bring  the  cocktails,  my  dear?  " 

I  hesitated,  bewildered  by  his  request;  daring 
neither  to  grant  nor  deny  it.  The  nurse  was  half 
way  down  the  hall,  and  nearing  the  door  rapidly. 

"  Take  your  choice,  Clarissa,"  whispered  the 
baby,  coolly.  "  Unless  you  promise  me  at  once, 
I  shall  tell  the  nurse  who  I  am,  the  moment  she 
enters  the  room." 

My  heart  sprang  chokingly  into  my  throat,  and 
I  whispered,  hoarsely : 

"  Very  well,  Jack.  I'll  do  as  you  wish.  But 
do  be  careful,  won't  you  ?  Don't  take  more  than 
a  sip  at  a  time,  will  you?  " 

Before  the  baby  could  reply,  the  nurse  had  en 
tered  the  room,  smiling  gaily. 


325 


CHAPTER  VI. 

PROTOPLASM    AND    FROTH. 

We  have  forgot  what  we  have  been, 
And  what  we  are  we  little  know. 

—  Thomas  W.  Parsons. 

THERE  was  not  the  least  doubt  that  our  dinner 
in  honor  of  the  German  biologist,  Platner,  had 
been  a  tremendous  success.  Long  before  we  had 
reached  the  game  course  I  had  caught  the  gleam 
of  triumph  in  Tom's  eyes,  and  across  the  long 
board  my  gaze  had  met  his  in  joyous  congratu 
lation.  It  was  not  merely  personal  glory  that  we 
had  won  by  this  well-conceived  and  smoothly  exe 
cuted  social  function.  In  a  way,  we  had  vindi 
cated  our  caste,  had  proved  to  a  censorious  world 
that  the  inner  circle  of  metropolitan  society  is  not 
wholly  frivolous,  utterly  indifferent  to  the  achieve- 
326 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

ments  of  genius  and  the  marvelous  feats  of  mod 
ern  science. 

When  Tom  had  first  suggested  to  me  the  possi 
bility  of  our  entertaining  Platner,  whose  efforts 
had  won  the  enthusiasm  of  materialists  in  all  parts 
of  the  world,  I  had  fought  shy  of  the  project. 
Tom's  idea  was  to  gather  at  our  table  the  most 
noted  scientists  of  the  city,  with  the  German  biolo 
gist  as  the  magnet,  and  to  select  our  women  from 
among  the  cleverest  of  our  set,  once  vulgarly 
known  as  the  "  Four  Hundred."  Upon  his  first 
presentation  of  the  scheme  I  had  argued  that  it 
was  impracticable,  that  the  scientists  would  find 
our  women  frivolous,  and  that  our  women  would 
be  horribly  bored  by  the  sages.  Even  up  to  the 
moment  of  our  entrance  to  the  dining-room  I  had 
been  annoyed  by  the  fear  that  me  pessimistic  at 
titude  toward  the  function  was  to  be  vindicated, 
that  Tom's  effort  to  make  oil  and  water  mix  was 
doomed  to  failure. 

And  the  funniest  thing  about  the  whole  affair 
is  that  we  were  saved  from  disaster  and  raised  to 
327 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

glory  through  the  quaint  personality  of  the  Herr 
Doctor,  our  guest  of  honor.  A  typical  German 
savant  in  appearance,  with  spectacles,  beard  and 
agitated  hair,  he  displayed  from  the  outset  a  per 
fect  self-control  beneath  which,  one  quickly  real 
ized,  glowed  the  fires  of  a  fine  enthusiasm. 
Speaking  French  or  English  with  a  fluency  that 
was  enviable,  he  aired  his  hobby  in  a  genial,  en 
tertaining  way,  which  saved  him  from  being  the 
bore  that  a  man  with  a  fixed  idea  is  so  apt  to 
prove.  Protoplasm  may  seem  to  be  a  most  un 
promising  topic  upon  which  to  base  the  conversa 
tion  at  a  fashionable  dinner-party,  but  I  found 
myself  intensely  interested,  before  the  oyster- 
plates  had  been  removed,  in  the  scientific  discus 
sion  that  the  learned  Herr  Doctor  had  set  in  mo 
tion  and  Tom  had  deftly  kept  alive. 

"  I  had  been  impressed,  years  ago,"  Plainer 
had  begun,  in  answer  to  a  polite  question  from 
Mrs.  "  Ned  "  Farrington,  who  is  a  very  tactful 
woman ;  "  I  had  been  impressed  by  the  similar 
ity  of  protoplasm  to  a  fine  froth."  Here  the  Ger- 
328 


Clarissa^  Troublesome  Baby. 

man  scientist  held  an  oyster  poised  on  a  fork  and 
gazed  at  it  musingly,  the  while  he  continued,  in 
almost  flawless  English :  "  The  most  available 
froth,  soap  lather,  is  made  up  of  air  bubbles  en 
tangled  in  soap  solution.  After  years  of  experi 
menting,  my  friends,  I  succeeded  in  making  an  oil 
foam  from  soapy  water  and  olive  oil.  Under  the 
microscope  my  solution  closely  resembles  proto 
plasm." 

"  Does  it  really  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  "  Ned,"  raptur 
ously. 

"  Wonderful !  "  commented  Professor  Shanks, 
America's  most  noted  zoologist. 

"  It's  curious,"  remarked  Elinor  Scarsdale, 
rather  cleverly,  I  thought,  "  that  from  protoplasm 
to  the  highest  civilization  there  should  have  been 
a  struggle  from  soap  to  soap." 

The  Herr  Doctor  glanced  approvingly  at  the 
brightest  debutante  of  the  season. 

"  In  those  words,  young  lady,"  he  said,  with 
flattering  emphasis,  "  you  have  summed  up  the 
whole  history  of  physical  evolution.  But  to  con- 
329 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

tinue :  My  drops  of  oil  foam  act  as  if  they  were 
alive,  their  movements  bearing  a  most  marvelous 
resemblance  to  the  activities  of  Pelomyxa,  a  jelly- 
like  marine  creature,  protoplasmic  in  its  simplic 
ity."  The  Herr  Doctor  was  again  addressing  his 
remarks  to  his  oyster  fork. 

"Do  I  understand  you,  Dr.  Platner,"  asked 
Tom,  from  the  foot  of  the  table,  "  that,  under 
the  microscope,  rhozopod  protoplasm,  for  exam 
ple,  would  resemble  your — ah — oil  foam  ?  " 

"  So  closely,  sir,"  answered  Herr  Platner,  in 
stantly,  "  that  I  have  often  deceived  the  most  ex 
pert  microscopists  in  Germany.  Futhermore,  Mr. 
Minturn,  my  artificial  protoplasm  retains  its  ac 
tivity  for  long  periods  of  time.  I  made  one 
drop,  sir,  that  was  alive,  so  to  speak,  for  six 
days." 

"And  then  it  died?"  asked  Mrs.  "Ned," 
mournfully. 

"  To  speak  unscientifically,  yes,"  answered  the 
German,  carefully.  "  Now,  what  are  we  to  gath 
er  from  all  this,  my  friends?"  The  butler  had 
330 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

removed  the  oysters,  and  the  Herr  Doctor  was 
forced  to  glance  at  his  audience. 

"  New  reverence  for  soap  and  olive  oil,"  sug 
gested  one  of  the  younger  scientists,  a  professor 
at  a  neighboring  university. 

Platner  eyed  the  speaker  suspiciously,  and  then 
said: 

"  That,  of  course,  sir ;  but  much  more  than 
that.  I  have  proved  conclusively,  my  friends, 
that  the  primary  movements  of  life  are  due  to 
structure,  and  that  there  is  absolutely  no  neces 
sity  for  believing  in  any  peculiar  vital  essence  or 
force.  The  living  cell,  I  confidently  assert,  may 
be  built  up  out  of  inert  matter.  The  old-fash 
ioned  idea  of  a  vital  spark  being  absolutely  essen 
tial  is  as  obsolete  as  the  belief  in  special  creation. 
Let  me  live  a  hundred  years,  my  friends,  and  I'll 
make  for  you  a  Goethe  or  a  Shakespeare  out  of 
soap  lather  and  olive  oil." 

"  Just  imagine  it !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Farring- 
don,  gazing  with  exaggerated  admiration  at  the 
German  genius. 

331 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  It's  really  not  so  shocking  to  our  pride  of 
ancestry  as  it  seems  at  first  sight,"  Tom  ventured 
to  suggest.  "  Our  generation  has  become  recon 
ciled,  perforce,  to  its  humble  origin.  It  is  hard 
for  us  to  realize  how  severely  Darwinism  shocked 
our  fathers  and  mothers." 

"  As  I  understand  you,  Dr.  Platner,"  broke  in 
Mrs.  "  Bob  "  Vincent,  turning  the  blaze  of  her 
great,  dark  eyes  full  upon  the  German's  face, 
"  your  discovery  is  a  triumph  for  the  extreme 
materialists?  It  destroys  absolutely  all  the  bases 
upon  which  the  belief  in  psychic  forces  rests? 
We  are  machines,  wound  up  to  run  for  a  while, 
and  then  to  stop  forever?  " 

"  You  have  practically  stated  my  creed,  mad- 
ame,"  answered  the  Herr  Doctor,  gravely.  "  Con 
stant  motion,  constant  change — these  are  the  al 
pha  and  the  omega  of  the  universe.  Why  should 
we  superimpose  the  concept  of  a  psychical  exist 
ence  upon  a  structure  that  is  already  perfect? 
As  I  said  in  other  words,  my  friends,  I  could,  if 
332 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

sufficient  time  were  granted  to  me,  rebuild  the 
earth  and  its  creatures  in  my  laboratory." 

"  Provided  that  it  was  situated  near  a  barber 
shop  and  a  delicatessen  store,"  whispered  Dr. 
Hopkins,  who  had  been  listening  in  silence  on 
my  left  to  our  guest  of  honor.  I  was  glad  to  hear 
this  subdued  note  of  protest  from  so  eminent  a 
source,  but  he  shook  his  gray  head  as  I  glanced 
at  him  approvingly.  Professor  Hopkins,  Ph.  D., 
loves  science  but  hates  controversy.  Had  he 
crossed  swords  at  that  moment  with  the  German 
he  would  have  found,  I  imagine,  that  the  sym 
pathies  of  my  guests  were  with  the  materialist. 
When  a  scientist  frankly  tells  you  that  he  can 
manufacture  protoplasm,  and  goes  on  to  describe 
to  you  his  method  of  procedure,  it's  well  to  pause 
before  plunging  into  an  argument  with  him.  But 
I,  who  had  good  reason  to  know  that  Herr  Plat- 
ner  was  ludicrously  at  fault  in  his  conception  of 
the  universe,  could  not  but  regret  that  so  bril 
liant  a  champion  as  Dr.  Hopkins  had  not  rushed 
to  the  defense  of  the  truth.  For  a  moment  I  was 
333 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

almost  tempted  to  defy  the  rules  of  hospitality 
and  voice  the  new  faith  that  had  come  to  me  in 
the  existence  of  psychic  mysteries.  This  incli 
nation  was  intensified  by  Herr  Planner's  answer 
to  a  question  put  to  him  by  one  of  the  men/' 

"  It's  all  the  veriest  rubbish,"  I  heard  the  Ger 
man  saying,  with  great  emphasis.  "  All  those 
Oriental  philosophies  and  religions  are  merely 
picturesque  presentments  of  the  truths  that  are 
clearly  stated  by  modern  materialism,  so-called. 
What  is  Nirvana  but  simply  cessation  of  motion  ? 
Admitting  reincarnation,  for  example,  as  a  work 
ing  hypothesis,  it  would  mean  simply  the  coming 
and  going  of  atomic  vibrations  with  successive 
losses  of  identity.  They  are  dreamers,  those  Ori 
entals,  seeing  half  truths  clearly  enough,  but 
never  following  them  out  to  their  logical  con 
clusions." 

"  And  yet  the  East  is  the  mother  of  lather  and 
olive  oil,"  murmured  Dr.  Hopkins,  under  his 
breath. 

At  that  instant  my  heart  leaped  into  my  throat, 
334 


"  'He's  bewitched.    .    .    .    He's  been  talking  like  a  man.' " 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

and  I  sprang  to  my  feet  in  affright.  With  Ho 
ratio  in  her  arms,  his  nurse  had  rushed  frantically 
into  the  dining-room,  despite  the  interference  of 
the  butler,  and,  with  blanched  face  and  staring 
eyes,  was  bearing  down  on  me,  with  the  purpose, 
evidently,  of  thrusting  the  baby  into  my  grasp. 

"  Take  him !  take  him !  "  she  cried,  hysteric 
ally,  and  before  I  could  resist  her  insistence,  Ho 
ratio  was  squirming  in  my  bare  arms.  "  He's 
bewitched,"  continued  his  nurse,  frantically. 
"  He's  been  talking  like  a  man.  I'm  through  with 
him.  He  ain't  a  baby!  You  just  wait  a  mo 
ment,  Mrs.  Minturn.  He'll  speak  again  in  a  mo 
ment.  He's  got  a  voice  like  a  steam  calliope. 
And  what  he  says !  Oh,  my !  " 

"  Take  her  away  at  once,"  Tom  was  crying  to 
the  butler.  "  She  has  gone  crazy,"  he  went  on, 
rushing  past  our  astounded  guests  to  my  assist 
ance.  "  Don't  be  frightened,  my  dear !  I  always 
thought  that  she  was  unbalanced,  and  now  I  know 
it.  Poor  little  Horatio!  He  looks  scared  to 
death!" 

335 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A    BIOLOGIST    AND    A    BABY. 

We  know  these  things  are  so,  we  ask  not  why, 
But  act  and  follow  as  the  dream  goes  on. 

— Lord  Houghton. 

"  ISN'T  he  a  lovely  baby !  " 

"  Don't  send  him  away,  Mrs.  Minturn." 

"  Get  his  high  chair  for  him,  James." 

"  See  him  smile !    I  don't  wonder  at  his  relief. 
Just  imagine  being  in  the  care  of  a  crazy  nurse !  " 

"  What  wild  eyes  she  had !    You  say  she  was 
always  eccentric,  Mr.  Minturn?" 

"The  baby's  only  eight  months  old?     Really, 
Mrs.  Minturn,  he  looks  older." 

"  He  has  such  pretty  eyes !     And  look  at  the 
dimples  in  his  little  hands.    Doesn't  he  ever  cry? 
How  good  he  is,  dear  little  fellow !  " 
336 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"  Horatio !  What  a  fine,  dignified  name !  Ho 
ratio  held  a  bridge,  didn't  he?  or  was  it  a  full 
house?  " 

"  What  a  question  for  a  famous  scientist  to 
ask !  " 

The  baby,  erect  and  smiling  in  his  high  chair, 
had  wonderfully  enlivened  our  dinner-party. 
Even  Tom,  startled  as  he  had  been  by  the  advent 
of  the  distraught  nurse,  was  now  wholly  at  his 
ease  and  beamed  genially  from  the  foot  of  the 
table  upon  the  youngster,  who  seemed  to  be  de 
lighted  at  the  attention  that  he  was  receiving 
from  beautiful  women  and  famous  men.  As  he 
sat  there,  merrily  waving  a  spoon  in  the  air  and 
crowing  lustily,  I  watched  him  with  mingled 
pride  and  consternation.  Although  a  most  dis 
tressing  episode  had  been  brought  to  a  pictur 
esque  conclusion,  there  seemed  to  me  to  be  start 
ling  possibilities  in  the  present  situation.  I  did 
not  like  the  flush  upon  the  baby's  cheeks,  the 
unnatural  gleam  in  his  laughing  eyes.  Impulsive 
ly  I  bent  down  and  kissed  him  upon  his  pretty 

337 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

mouth.  My  worst  fears  were  instantly  realized, 
and  I  felt  my  spinal  marrow  turn  to  ice.  I  had 
detected  the  odor  of  a  cocktail  upon  Horatio's 
— or,  rather,  Jack's — breath. 

"  I  am  forced  to  acknowledge,  madame,"  I 
heard  Herr  Platner  saying,  in  answer  to  one  of 
Mrs.  Farringdon's  leading  questions,  "  I  am 
forced  to  acknowledge  that  my  theories  destroy 
much  of  the  poetry  of  life.  It  is  a  most  prosaic 
attitude  that  I  am  forced  to  hold  toward  yonder 
most  beautiful  baby,  for  example.  Romance 
would  point  to  him  as  an  immortal  soul  in  em 
bryo.  Realism  asserts  that  he  is  a  machine,  like 
the  rest  of  us,  with  a  longer  lease  of  activity  be 
fore  him  than  you  or  I  have,  who  have  been 
ticking,  so  to  speak,  for  several  years." 

"  Be  good,  Horatio !  "  I  whispered.  "  Don't 
cry.  You  can  have  an  ice  pretty  soon." 

The  baby  brought  his  spoon  down  upon  the 
table  with  a  thump,  and  actually  glared  at  the 
German  professor,  while  my  guests  laughed  gaily 
at  the  child's  precocious  demonstration. 
338 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"Isn't  he  cunning!"  exclaimed  Elinor  Scars- 
dale,  delightedly. 

"  He  seems  to  have  a  prejudice  against  me, 
nicht  wahrf  "  remarked  the  Herr  Doctor,  laugh 
ing  aloud. 

"  You  aren't  to  blame  for  that,  little  boy,"  mur 
mured  Dr.  Hopkins,  so  that  I  alone  could  hear 
him.  "  He  says  that  you  are  sprung  from  oil 
and  lather  and  are  rushing  toward  annihilation." 

"  Bah  !  "  yelled  the  baby.     "  Bah !  bah !  bah !  " 

" '  Ba-ba,  ba-ba-  black  sheep,  have  'oo  any 
wool  ? '  '  quoted  Professor  Rogers,  the  noted 
comparative  philologist,  who  has  identified  the 
germ  of  epic  poetry  in  the  earliest  known  cradle 
songs. 

"Isn't  he  fascinating!"  cried  Elinor  Scars- 
dale,  referring  to  the  baby,  not  to  the  philologist. 

"  If  you'll  excuse  me  for  a  time,"  I  said  to  my 
guests,  seeing  that  Tom  was  growing  weary  of 
Horatio's  prominence  at  the  table,  "  I'll  take  the 
baby  to  the  nursery." 

"  You'll  do  it  at  your  peril,"  I  heard  a  deep 
339 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

voice  grumble,  and  Dr.  Hopkins  jumped  nerv 
ously  and  glanced  at  me  in  amazement. 

"  Don't  run  off  with  him,  Mrs.  Minturn,"  cried 
Mrs.  Farringdon;  and  her  protest  was  sustained 
by  a  chorus  of  "  don't "  and  "  do  let  him  stay." 

"  It  may  be  only  temporary,"  I  heard  Dr. 
Plainer  saying,  as  he  gazed  at  Professor  Shanks, 
who  had  asked  him,  evidently,  a  question  about 
the  baby's  nurse.  "  It's  not  an  uncommon  form 
of  insanity,  and  may  be  only  temporary.  I  recall 
an  instance  of  a  very  learned  and  perfectly  harm 
less  professor  at  Gottingen  who  believed  for 
years  that  his  pet  cat  talked  Sanskrit  to  him. 
There  was  at  my  own  university  a  young  man 
wholly  sane,  apparently,  who  made  a  record  of 
conversations  that  he  had  held  with  the  skeleton 
of  a  gorilla.  Both  of  these  men  were  eventually 
restored  to  mental  health,  and  have  never  had  a 
return  of  their  delusions.  It  is  fortunate,  how 
ever,  that  the  poor  woman,  whose  insanity  we 
have  so  recently  witnessed,  exhibited  her  mania 
at  this  time.  What  might  have  happened  other- 
340 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

wise  to  that  charming  little  baby  I  shudder  to 
think." 

Horatio  was  pounding  the  table  with  a  spoon, 
as  if  applauding  the  Herr  Doctor's  remarks. 
Suddenly  he  dropped  the  spoon  and  made  a  grab 
for  Dr.  Hopkins's  wine-glass. 

"  What  vivacity  he  has!  "  remarked  Professor 
Shanks,  as  if  addressing  a  roomful  of  students 
interested  in  a  zoological  specimen. 

"  He  seems  to  know  a  rare  vintage  when  he 
sees  it,"  suggested  Dr.  Hopkins,  intending,  of 
course,  to  compliment  his  hostess. 

"  I  think  my  dear — "  began  Tom,  nervously. 

"  Don't  go  any  further,  Mr.  Minturn,"  cried 
Elinor  Scarsdale,  playfully.  "  The  baby  is  so 
much  more  interesting  than " 

"  Protoplasm,"  added  Dr.  Hopkins,  under  his 
breath. 

Dr.  Platner  was  gazing  at  the  baby  searching- 
ly.     He  had  been  impressed  evidently  by  certain 
eccentricities  in  Horatio's  bearing. 
341 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  How  old  did  you  say  the  boy  was,  madame?  " 
asked  the  German  savant,  presently. 

"  Eight  months,"  I  answered,  a  catch  in  my 
voice  that  I  could  not  control. 

"  He's — ah — very  intelligent  for  a  child  of  that 
age,"  commented  Platner,  laboring  under  the  mis 
take  that  he  was  saying  something  complimen 
tary.  "  He  has  a  most  expressive  face." 

As  the  baby  was  scowling  savagely  at  the  Ger 
man  at  that  moment,  and  frantically  shaking  his 
little  fists  at  him,  there  were  both  pith  and  point 
to  the  latter' s  remark. 

"  Rot !  "  muttered  Jack,  wickedly.  I  sprang 
to  my  feet  and  lifted  him  from  his  chair.  He 
kicked  protestingly  for  a  moment,  and  gave  vent 
to  a  yell  that  bore  witness  to  his  possession  of  a 
marvelous  pair  of  lungs. 

"  Be  quiet,  Horatio,"  I  whispered,  imploringly, 
hurrying  toward  the  door,  without  further  apol 
ogy  to  my  guests.  "  If  you'll  be  silent  now,  I'll 
have  a  bottle  of  champagne  brought  to  the  nur 
sery." 

342 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

At  these  words  the  baby  nestled  affectionately 
in  my  arms,  and  I  felt  that  the  fight  was  won. 
Just  as  we  reached  the  doorway,  however,  Jack 
clambered  to  my  shoulder  and  waved  his  little  fist 
defiantly  at  my  guests. 

"  Damn  that  frowsy  old  German  donkey !  "  he 
muttered,  close  to  my  ear.  "  I'd  give  half  a  bot 
tle  of  cocktails  to  prove  to  him  what  an  amazing 
ignoramus  he  is!  Just  wait  a  minute,  will  you, 
Clarissa?  " 

I  rushed  out  of  the  dining-room  without  more 
ado.  In  another  instant  Jack  would  have  said 
the  word  that  trembled  on  his  tiny  mouth,  the 
word  that  would  have  brought  the  whole  temple 
of  modern  materialism  toppling  down  upon  Herr 
Planner's  devoted  head. 


343 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HUSH-A-BY,  NUMBER  ONE! 

Methinks  that  e'en  through  my  laughter 

Oft  trembles  a  strain  of  dread  ; 
A  shivery  ghost  of  laughter 

That  is  loath  to  rise  from  the  dead. 

— Hjalmar  Hjorth  Boyesen, 

THE  nursery  was  in  a  condition  of  much  dis 
order  as  I  entered  it  with  the  baby's  arms  around 
my  neck.  Much  to  my  surprise  and  delight  Jack 
had  fallen  asleep  as  we  mounted  the  stairs.  How 
to  get  him  into  his  crib  without  rousing  him  was 
a  problem  that  I  longed  to  solve,  although  I  had 
determined  not  to  return  to  the  dining-room.  I 
would  send  a  maid  presently  to  tell  the  butler  to 
inform  Tom  that  I  could  not  leave  the  baby  at 
this  crisis.  Surely  our  guests  would  consider  a 

344 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

crazy  nurse  sufficient  excuse  for  the  retirement  of 
their  hostess. 

But  Jack  opened  his  little  eyes  and  crowed, 
rather  hilariously,  as  I  laid  him  on  his  pillows. 

"  Don't  go,  my  dear  Clarissa,"  he  said,  his 
baby  tones  strangely  out  of  harmony  with  his 
words.  "  I  have  much  to  say  to  you  at  once. 
I  owe  you  an  explanation  and  apology.  Sit  down, 
won't  you?  " 

"  Keep  quiet,  Jack,"  I  whispered,  "  I'll  be  back 
in  a  moment." 

After  I  had  despatched  a  servant  to  the  dining- 
room  with  my  message  to  Tom,  and  had  assured 
myself  that  the  baby's  hysterical  nurse  had  left 
the  house — poor  woman,  I  was  sincerely  sorry 
for  her ! — I  returned  to  the  nursery  and  shut  my 
self  in,  with  a  feeling  of  great  relief.  So  intense, 
indeed,  was  my  nervous  reaction  after  hours  of 
varied  emotions  that  I  sank  at  once  into  a  chair 
to  check  a  sensation  of  dizziness  that  had  come 
over  me  as  I  crossed  the  room. 

"  Isn't  this  cosy ! "  exclaimed  the  baby,  kneel- 
345 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

ing  at  the  side  of  his  crib  and  striving  to  touch 
me  with  his  fat,  uncertain  little  hands.  "  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you,  Clarissa,  that  I  did  not  de 
liberately  plan  to  frighten  that  tyrannical  nurse 
of  mine.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,  I  had 
taken  just  one  swallow  too  much  of  those  cock 
tails  and  was  astonished  to  discover  that,  while 
thus  slightly  elevated,  so  to  speak,  I  could  com 
municate  in  the  language  of  maturity  with  this 
— ah — comparative  stranger.  Naturally,  it  was 
a  great  shock  to  the  nurse.  As  I  remarked  to 
you  before,  my  dear,  she's  narrow.  A  more 
broad-minded  woman  would  not  have  rushed  be 
fore  the  public,  making  a  kind  of  Balaam's  ass  of 
a  helpless  baby.  But  she's  been  discharged,  of 
course?  " 

"  She  has  gone  away,  if  that's  what  you  mean," 
I  answered,  laughing  rather  hysterically.  "  How 
do  you  account  for  your  sudden  loquacity  in  her 
presence,  Jack  ?  " 

"  That's  a  mystery,"  said  the  baby,  screwing 
346 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

up  his  tiny  mouth  into  a  funny  little  knot.    "  Spir 
its  had  something  to  do  with  it,  I  suppose." 

"  Spirits !  "  I  repeated,  nervously. 

"  Yes,"  responded  Jack,  clapping  his  palms  to 
gether  with  a  ludicrously  infantile  gesture. 
"  You  see,  my  dear,  there  were  spirits  in  the 
cocktail.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Clarissa,  I'm 
a  bit  scared.  I'm  going  to  swear  off.  By  the 
way,  did  you  order  that  champagne  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  curtly. 

"  Well,  perhaps  it's  better,  on  the  whole,  that 
you  didn't,"  sighed  the  baby,  tumbling  back  on 
his  pillows  and  waving  his  chubby  legs  in  the 
air.  "  I've  about  made  up  my  mind,  my  dear, 
to  lead  a  better  life.  It'll  be  easier  for  me  to  be 
good  than  it  has  been,  now  that  the  nurse  is  gone. 
She  was  so  narrow,  Clarissa!  It  was  always  on 
my  mind,  and  it  finally  drove  me  to  drink." 

"  I'll  have  to  replace  her  at  once,  Jack,"  I  re 
marked,   drawing  my  chair  closer  to  the   crib. 
"  What — ah — that  is — have  you  some  idea  as  to 
just  what  kind  of  a  nurse  you'd  like?  " 
347 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

The  baby  was  on  his  knees  again  at  the  side 
of  the  crib,  waving  his  expressive  fists  in  the  air. 

"  Understand  me,  Clarissa,"  he  said,  sternly, 
"  I  refuse  to  risk  my  life  again  by  placing  myself 
in  the  power  of  a  hireling  nurse.  You  can't  ex 
pect  people  of  that  kind  to  be  open  to  new  ideas. 
To  a  man  of  my  temperament,  my  dear, 
you  must  realize  that  repeated  doses  of  baby- 
talk  are  actually  cloying.  If  you  could  engage 
some  broad-minded,  elderly  woman  who  had  been 
deaf  and  dumb  from  birth,  I  might  put  up  with 
her  for  a  while.  But,  of  course,  it  would  be 
hard  to  find  such  a  prize.  You'll  have  to  look 
after  your  little  baby  yourself,  my  dear,  until  I'm 
a  few  years  older.  It'll  be  hard  for  you,  I  realize 
that,  Clarissa.  But,  frankly,  is  there  any  other 
alternative  ?  If  I'm  to  lead  a  better  life,  my  dear, 
I  must  have  some  encouragement." 

I  leaned  back  in  my  chair,  and  closed  my  eyes 
wearily.  The  burden  that  had  been  thrust  upon 
me  was  growing  greater  than  I  could  bear. 

"  We'll  postpone  this  discussion  until  to-mor- 
348 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

row,  Jack,"  I  said,  presently.  "  I  must  think  it 
all  out  carefully  before  I  can  come  to  a  decision. 
Meanwhile,  you'd  better  go  to  sleep.  It's  get 
ting  late,  you  know." 

"  You  aren't  going  to  leave  me  here  alone, 
Clarissa  ?  "  cried  the  baby,  nervously.  "  You'd 
better  not.  There'll  be  trouble  if  you  do." 

The  fact  was  that  I  was  in  a  quandary  as  to 
what  was  the  proper  thing  to  do,  under  the  circum 
stances.  I  had  only  just  begun  to  realize  how 
many  problems  had  been  solved  by  the  presence 
of  the  nurse.  At  this  time  of  night  it  was  im 
possible,  of  course,  to  get  anybody  to  take  her 
place.  At  such  a  crisis  as  this  the  natural  so 
lution  of  the  problem  lay  in  my  temporary  occu 
pancy  of  her  position.  But  I  shrank  from  the 
obligation  that  fate  had  so  unkindly  thrust  upon 
me.  Lifting  the  very  willing  baby  from  the  crib, 
I  carried  him  to  a  rocking-chair,  hoping  that  I 
might  get  him  to  sleep  while  I  came  thoughtfully 
to  a  determination  regarding  my  course  of  action 
for  the  immediate  future. 
349 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  Gently ! "  murmured  Jack,  cuddling  grate 
fully  in  my  arms.  "  A  long,  slow,  dreamy  kind 
of  rocking  is  not  so  bad,  Clarissa.  It's  the  tem 
pestuous,  jerky  style  that  I  object  to.  That  con 
founded  nurse  had  a  secret  sorrow.  It  used  to 
bother  her  whenever  she  got  me  into  this  chair. 
She'd  groan  and  weep  and  swing  me  up  and 
down,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  pulverize  her 
grief,  with  me  as  the  hammer.  Then  I'd  begin 
to  yell,  and  she'd  rock  all  the  harder.  You  can't 
imagine,  Clarissa,  what  your  little  Horatio  has 
suffered  of  late." 

I  laughed  aloud  nervously,  knowing  that  my 
merriment  had  a  cruel  sound,  but  unable  to  con 
trol  it. 

"  Did  you  think  that  I  was  joking!  "  growled 
Jack,  clutching  at  my  chin,  angrily. 

"  Forgive  me,  Jack !  "  I  exclaimed,  repentantly. 
"  I  know  that  you've  had  an  awfully  hard  time, 
poor  boy.  And  I  promise  you  that  I  shall  try  my 
best  to  make  life  easier  for  you,  from  now  on. 
And  now,  Jack,  do  try  to  get  to  sleep!  I'll  see 

350 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

to  it  that  you  are  perfectly  comfortable  to-night, 
and  to-morrow  we'll  talk  about  the  future. 
Would  you  like  to  have  me  sing  to  you,  Jack,  as 
I  rock  you  ?  " 

The  baby  fairly  shook  with  suppressed  laugh 
ter  at  the  suggestion. 

"Doesn't  it  seem  absurd,  Clarissa?"  he 
gasped,  between  chuckles.  "  Just  imagine  what 
it  really  means.  You're  about  to  hum  hush-a- 
bye-baby  to  Number  One,  while  Number  Two  is 
down-stairs  talking  scientific  rubbish  to  a  lot 
of  old  fogies !  If  you  should  ever  write  your 
memoirs,  my  dear " 

"  Hush,  Jack !  "  I  cried,  petulantly,  setting  the 
chair  in  motion.  "  I  shall  never  write  anything 
for  publication." 

"  Nonsense,"  commented  the  baby,  drowsily. 
"  Everybody  does.  You'll  be  sure  to  try  it  on 
some  day.  What  a  story  you  could  tell,  couldn't 
you,  my  dear?  You  might  call  it,  with  my  per 
mission,  '  Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby.' ' 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A   BOSTON    GIRL. 

It  would  be  curious  if  we  should  find  science  and  philoso 
phy  taking  up  again  the  old  theory  of  metempsychosis. 
But  strangei  things  have  happened  in  the  history  of  human 
opinion. 

—James  Freeman  Clarke. 

IT  was  only  through  the  exercise  of  the  nicest 
care  that  I  escaped  a  complete  nervous  collapse 
during  the  weeks  immediately  following  our  now 
famous  dinner  to  Herr  Platner.  I  was  tempted 
at  times  to  run  off  to  Europe  and  leave  my  fev 
ered  household  to  fend  for  itself.  I  seemed  to 
spend  the  larger  part  of  my  time  in  keeping  Jack 
quiet  and  Tom  cool.  Which  was  the  more  diffi 
cult  task  I  am  unable  to  say.  Jack  remained 
stubbornly  unreasonable  regarding  the  kind  of 
nurse  he  was  willing  to  submit  to,  while  Tom 
352 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

grumbled  continually  because  I  spent  so  much 
time  with  the  baby. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  in  the  nursery,  Claris 
sa  ?  "  the  latter  asked  me  one  morning  at  break 
fast.  "  You  have  tried  ten  different  experi 
ments  there  since  that  crazy  woman  left  us,  and 
now  you  tell  me  that  her  place  is  again  vacant. 
We  pay  the  highest  wages,  Horatio  is  not  a  sickly, 
fretful  child,  but  still  these  alleged  nurses  come 
and  go,  offering,  so  far  as  I  can  learn,  only  the 
flimsiest  excuses  for  throwing  up  a  seemingly  de 
sirable  situation.  There  must  be  something  rad 
ically  wrong  up  there.  Have  you  any  idea,  my 
dear,  what  it  is?  " 

How  could  I  tell  Tom  the  truth  about  the 
matter?  Had  I  informed  him  that  the  baby  still 
insisted  upon  my  engaging  an  elderly  woman 
deaf  and  dumb  from  birth,  and  refused  to  adapt 
himself  to  any  one  of  the  many  compromises  that 
I  had  offered  to  him,  Tom  would  have  been  justi 
fied  in  suspecting  the  existence  of  insanity  germs 
in  our  nursery.  He  had  seen  one  woman  issue 
353 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

therefrom  in  an  apparently  crazy  condition,  and 
he  had  noted  the  eccentric  fickleness  of  her  suc 
cessors.  If  I  should  now  lay  the  actual  facts 
before  him,  he  would  have  good  reason  to  be 
lieve  that  I  also  had  lost  my  mental  balance.  At 
that  moment  there  came  to  me  a  vague  dread  of 
my  second  husband's  scientific  habit  of  mind.  It 
was  evident  that  he  was  bent  upon  collecting  data 
about  the  baby  and  his  nurses,  in  order  that  he 
might  reach  some  reasonable  conclusion  in  ex 
planation  of  the  existing  disturbed  conditions  in 
our  formerly  unruffled  household.  And  the  un 
fortunate  part  of  it  was  that  Tom  had  the  leisure 
and,  I  feared,  the  inclination  to  wrestle  with  this 
problem  until  he  had  solved  it  in  some  way  satis 
factory  to  his  exacting  mind. 

"  The  root  of  the  trouble,  Tom,"  I  answered, 
presently,  after  carefully  weighing  my  words  be 
fore  uttering  them,  "  the  root  of  the  trouble  is 
not  in  the  baby  or  the  nursery  or  the  wages — or 
in  me.  It  is  to  be  found  in  the  great  change  that 
is  going  on  in  the  conditions  of  domestic  service. 
354 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

A  child's  nurse  to-day — I  mean  one  of  the  kind 
that  we  should  be  willing  to  employ — is  a  highly- 
trained  specialist  who  has  grown  haughty  and 
despotic  in  the  mere  exercise  of  her  profession. 
She  realizes  that  the  demand  for  experts  in  her 

line  is  greater  than  the  supply,  and " 

"  I  see,"  interrupted  Tom,  rather  rudely,  I 
thought.  "  But  it  does  seem  to  me  that  if  other 
people  in  our  position,  Clare,  can  find  satisfactory 
nurses,  we  should  not  be  the  one  family  in  the 
city  that  is  forced  to  take  care  of  its  own  baby. 
I  am  willing  to  pay  any  amount  of  money  to 
insure  Horatio's  comfort.  I'll  admit  that  he  is 
difficult  at  times.  He  seems  to  be  a  very  sensi 
tive,  highly-strung  child,  but  there's  nothing  ab 
normal  about  him.  He's  pugnacious  and  hot- 
tempered,  but  most  healthy  boy  babies  are  in 
clined  to  be  spunky,  aren't  they?  What  I  object 
to  is  that  he  is  gradually  absorbing  all  your  time, 
day  and  night,  Clare.  I'm  not  jealous  of  Ho 
ratio,  my  dear,  but  I  don't  believe  in  the  old- 
fashioned  idea  that  parents  should  sacrifice  their 
355 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

comfort  upon  the  altar  of  the  nursery.  You  un 
derstand  my  position,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"  Gwendolen  will  be  here  to-day,  Tom,"  I  said, 
smiling  at  his  disturbed  face  from  across  the 
table.  "  I  hope  that  she'll  take  a  fancy  to  the 
baby.  At  all  events,  she'll  relieve  the  situation. 
When  your  wife's  in  the  nursery,  Tom,  you'll 
have  your  cousin  to  talk  to." 

"  Bah !  "  grumbled  Tom,  rising  and  placing  a 
hand  on  the  back  of  his  chair,  "  Gwendolen's 
pretty  and  chic  and  up  to  date,  but  she's  not  in 
your  class  intellectually,  my  dear." 

I  smiled  gratefully  at  Tom's  compliment,  but 
my  mind  was  not  at  ease.  Wasn't  the  presence 
of  Gwendolen  Van  Voorhees  in  the  house  more 
likely  to  prove  disastrous  than  satisfactory? 
When,  however,  Tom  had  insisted  that  his  cous 
in's  long-deferred  visit  to  us  be  made  at  once,  I 
could  find  no  reasonable  argument  to  oppose  to 
his  wishes.  From  various  points  of  view,  Gwen 
dolen's  advent  to  the  household  appeared  to  be 
desirable.  She  was  a  charming  girl,  well  read, 
356 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

widely  traveled  and  a  thoroughbred  little  inon- 
daine.  But  I  dreaded  her  arrival,  despite  the  fact 
that  I  could  not  have  put  the  vague  fears  that 
haunted  me  into  specific  words.  I  was  beginning 
to  realize  what  it  means  in  this  prosaic,  unimag 
inative  world  to  hide  in  one's  bosom  an  uncanny 
secret.  There  had  come  to  me,  of  late,  moments 
when  the  inclination  to  tell  Tom  the  whole  truth 
about  Horatio — or,  rather,  Jack — was  almost  ir 
resistible.  Perhaps  my  real  reason  for  objecting 
to  Gwendolen's  presence  was  my  fear,  unac 
knowledged  to  myself,  that  I  should  be  tempted 
eventually  to  tell  her  the  amazing  tale  of  Jack's 
ridiculous  reincarnation.  There  were  times,  and 
they  had  constantly  become  more  frequent,  when 
the  burden  of  my  secret  seemed  greater  than  I 
could  bear,  when  the  longing  to  confess  to  some 
body  that  the  baby  was  a  psychical  freak  of  the 
most  astounding  kind  burned  hot  within  me.  As 
I  lingered  over  my  coffee  in  the  breakfast-room 
that  morning,  after  Tom's  departure,  the  imme 
diate  future  looked  black  enough,  and  I  could  not 
357 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

see  that  the  coming  of  Gwendolen  gave  it  a 
lighter  shade. 

Nevertheless,  I  was  really  glad  to  welcome  her 
later  in  the  morning  as  I  met  her  at  the  door  of 
the  drawing-room,  and  kissed  her  pretty,  piquante 
mouth  affectionately. 

"  I  was  awfully  glad  to  come  to  you,  Clare," 
she  cried,  vivaciously,  as  we  mounted  the  stairs 
that  I  might  show  her  to  her  rooms.  "  You  know 
the  song  with  the  chorus,  '  There's  one  New 
York,  only  one  New  York  ? '  It's  been  running 
through  my  mind  for  two  days." 

"  But  I  thought  that  you  were  wedded  to  Bos 
ton,  Gwen,"  I  remarked,  my  mind  wandering 
for  a  moment  as  we  passed  the  closed  door  of  the 
nursery. 

Presently  we  were  seated  cozily  before  an  open 
fire  in  the  guest  chamber,  while  Gwendolen,  dark, 
petite,  smiling,  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  most  or 
namental  and  fascinating  addition  to  our  little 
circle. 

"  Boston  is  amusing,"  she  was  saying,  in  her 
358 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

pleasantly  emphatic  way,  "  but  it's  so  erratic, 
don't  you  know.  My  nerves  always  begin  to 
ache  after  I've  been  there  a  few  weeks.  They 
are  so  fond  of  fads,  Clare,  those  clever  Boston- 
ians !  They  take  up  everything,  you  know,  and 
always  go  to  extremes." 

"It's  American  history  now,  is  it  not?"  I 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Gwen,  gazing  at  the  fire  mus 
ingly.  "  That's  coming  in  again.  But  they're 
perfectly  crazy  about  theosophy  just  at  present. 
You'd  be  amazed,  Clare,  to  discover  how  much 
I  know  about  Nirvana  and  adepts  and  metem 
psychosis,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  Several  of 
my  most  intimate  friends  have  become  vegetarians 
and  live  mostly  on  baked  beans.  It's  awfully 
funny — they  take  it  all  so  seriously." 

"  And  what  do  you  really  think  of  it,  Gwen?  " 
I  asked,  nervously. 

'  Think  of  what,  of  which,  my  dear  ?  Of 
living  on  beans,  do  you  mean?  " 

"  No.  Beans  are  only  a  side  issue,  or,  to  speak 
359 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

with  Tom's  scientific  accuracy,  a  side  dish.    What 
do  you  think,  for  instance,  of  reincarnation  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  about  it,  Clare," 
she  answered,  reflectively,  pushing  her  dainty  lit 
tle  feet  toward  the  fire  and  gazing  into  my  face 
with  earnest  eyes.  "  Do  you  know,  there  are 
times  when  I  really  imagine  that  there's  some 
thing  in  it!  Of  course,  it's  absurd  in  a  way,  but 
it  does  solve  a  great  many  problems,  does  it 
not?  It  conforms  beautifully  to  the  laws  of  evo 
lution  and  the  conservation  of  energy,  and  there 
are  so  many  things  that  can't  be  explained  by 
any  other  theory !  But  it  always  makes  me  shud 
der  to  think  of  it.  Imagine,  Clare,  being  born 
again  in  Turkey,  for  example.  Wouldn't  it  be 
shocking?  " 

I  laughed,  rather  hysterically. 

"  The  whole  subject  is  too  silly  for  any  use," 
I  managed  to  say,  in  a  superior  kind  of  way. 
"  It  does  very  well  for  Boston,  of  course,  but  it 
will  never  have  much  of  a  run  here  in  New 
York." 

360 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"  What  a  narrow  way  of  looking  at  it,  Clare !  " 
exclaimed  Gwendolen,  protestingly.  "  Of  course, 
I'm  not  a  theosophist,  but  I'm  broad-minded 
enough  to  realize  that  what's  true  in  Benares  or 
Boston  must  be  true  in  New  York.  If  reincar 
nation  is  really  going  on  in  this  world,  I  can't 
believe  that  any  exception  is  made  in  favor  of 
our  Knickerbocker  families." 

Again  I  laughed  aloud,  nervously.  It  was 
pleasing  to  me  to  discover  that  Gwendolen  had 
a  mind  open  to  startling  truths,  but  I  regretted 
the  fact  that  I  must  henceforth  constantly  fight 
against  the  temptation  to  tell  her  my  great  secret. 
The  imminence  of  my  peril  in  this  regard  was 
illustrated  at  once,  for  she  turned  to  me  suddenly 
and  asked,  with  great  vivacity  of  manner : 

"Where  is  the  baby,  Clare?  Won't  you  let 
me  see  him  at  once?  I  came  to  visit  him,  you 
know;  not  you  or  Tom.  He's  got  such  a  lovely 
name !  '  Horatio  '  is  so  fine  and  dignified !  What 
do  you  call  him  for  short,  my  dear?  " 

"  I  have  not  given  him  a  nickname,  Gwendo- 
361 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

len,"  I  answered,  coldly.  "  If  you  wish  to,  we'll 
go  to  the  nursery  at  once.  As  I  told  you  in  my 
letter,  we've  had  difficulty  in  getting  the  baby 
a  nurse.  Just  at  present,  I'm  obliged  to  spend 
most  of  my  time  with  him.  But  I  gave  you  fair 
warning,  you  know." 

"  I'm  so  glad  that  I  can  have  the  run  of  the 
nursery,"  cried  Gwendolen,  gaily,  springing  to 
her  feet.  "  I  do  so  love  really  nice  children, 
Clare!  Is  he  a  jolly  baby?  Will  he  take  to  me, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

I  answered  her  question  as  we  reached  the  door 
of  the  nursery :  "  I  am  sure  I  can't  say,  Gwen. 
Horatio  is  very  eccentric  and  pronounced  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes.  But  if  he  goes  to  you  at  once, 
follow  my  advice  and  don't  toss  him  up  and  down 
violently.  He  says — that  is,  he  doesn't  like  to 
be  shaken  after  taken." 


362 


CHAPTER  X. 

AN   UNCANNY   FLIRTATION. 

And  thou,  too — when  on  me  fell  thine  eye, 
What  disclos'd  thy  cheek's  deep-purple  dye? 
Tow'rd  each  other,  like  relations  dear, 
As  an  exile  to  his  home  draws  near, 
Were  we  not  then  flying  ? 

— Schiller. 

I  MUST  acknowledge  that  the  enthusiasm  dis 
played  by  the  baby  when  he  caught  sight  of 
Gwendolen  filled  me  with  mingled  astonishment 
and  annoyance.  He  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  crib, 
waved  his  hands  joyously  in  the  air,  and  crowed 
lustily.  I  realized  that  the  poor  little  chap  was 
laboring  under  a  delusion,  that  he  had  mistaken 
Tom's  fascinating  cousin  for  a  new  nurse;  but, 
even  so,  why  should  he  act  as  if  he  were  intox 
icated  with  happiness?  I  could  not  check  the 
conviction  that  Jack  was  making  an  exhibition 

363 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

of  very  bad  taste  by  his  warm  reception  of  Gwen 
dolen.  That  I  was  jealous  of  her  was  not  true 
— that  would  have  been  absurd —  but  it  was  not 
pleasant  to  realize  that  the  baby  could  rejoice 
openly  in  the  advent  of  one  who,  as  he  believed 
at  the  moment,  was  to  take  my  place  in  the  nur 
sery.  Jack's  horrible  psychical  disaster  had  great 
ly  endeared  him  to  me,  and  I  could  not  help  feel 
ing  hurt  at  his  eagerness  to  go  to  a  perfect 
stranger.  There  was  something  not  altogether 
infantile  in  the  way  in  which  he  threw  his  chubby 
little  arms  around  Gwendolen's  neck  and  tucked 
his  smiling  little  face  into  her  cheek,  chuckling 
contentedly,  while  the  girl  laughed  aloud. 

"  Isn't  he  just  the  sweetest  little  thing  that 
ever  lived !  "  cried  Gwendolen,  with  spontaneous 
enthusiasm.  "  Did  you  see  him  jump  right  into 
my  arms,  Clare?  Such  a  thing  never  happened 
to  me  before.  Is  he  always  so  cordial  to  stran 
gers?" 

"  As  I  told  you,  Gwendolen,  Horatio  goes  to 
extremes  in  his  likes  and  dislikes.  He  evi- 
364 


Clarissas  Troublesome  Baby. 

dently  approves  of  you."  For  the  life  of  me, 
I  could  not  prevent  my  voice  from  sounding  cold 
and  harsh.  But  the  girl  was  too  thoroughly  in 
terested  in  the  baby  to  note  the  lack  of  cordiality 
in  my  tones. 

"'Oo  dear  'ittle  angelic  creature,"  she  was  mur 
muring  to  him,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the  rock 
ing-chair,  with  Jack  cuddled  in  her  arms.  "  Will 
'oo  always  love  'oo  cousin  Gwen?  " 

Here  was  a  kind  of  baby-talk  that  Jack  seemed 
to  like,  for  his  every  sound  and  movement  ex 
pressed  approval  of  Gwendolen's  nonsensical  en 
dearments.  But,  I  must  admit,  it  annoyed  me. 
Logically,  I  could  not  blame  Gwendolen  for  dis 
playing  a  sudden  fondness  for  the  baby.  She 
had  no  way  of  knowing  that  she  was  holding 
my  first  husband  on  her  lap.  I  was  glad  that 
she  was  ignorant  of  the  fact,  but,  while  my  mind 
fully  exonerated  her,  my  heart  protested  against 
her  fetching  ways  with  the  child.  Jack  as  a  baby 
had  never  appeared  to  such  advantage.  He 
smiled  and  laughed,  winked  his  eyes,  made  funny 
365 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

little  holes  with  his  mouth,  and  waved  his  tiny 
fists  in  the  air  in  a  kind  of  oratorical  way  that 
was  irresistibly  amusing. 

"  He's  perfectly  sweet ! "  cried  Gwendolen, 
glancing  at  me  with  dancing  eyes.  "  I  don't  think 
that  I  ever  cared  much  for  a  baby  before.  Clare, 
but  Horatio  has  cleared  the  first  bunker  beauti 
fully.  Is  he  always  like  this  ?" 

I  laughed  aloud,  nervously.  I  hadn't  the  cour 
age  to  say  anything  uncomplimentary  of  the  baby 
at  that  moment,  not  knowing  how  far  I  could 
trust  Jack's  self-control,  and  so  I  remarked,  in 
a  non-committal  way : 

"  He's  a  very  good  baby,  on  the  whole,  my 
dear.  Of  course,  he  isn't  to  be  blamed  for  pro 
testing  if  things  don't  go  just  right  with  him." 

"  Of  course  'oo  aren't,  'oo  lovely  'ittle  cara 
mel,"  murmured  Gwendolen,  her  cheeks  pressed 
against  Jack's  baby  face.  "  I've  always  been  so 
sorry  for  babies,  Clare,  because  they  couldn't  talk. 
It  must  be  trying  when  a  pin  is  sticking  into  you 
somewhere  to  have  your  gums  rubbed  by  a  mis- 
366 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

guided  nurse,  or  to  be  rocked  violently  when  the 
heat  of  the  room  has  made  your  head  ache." 

The  baby  gave  vent  to  a  most  astounding  yell 
of  delight,  a  very  precocious  exhibition  of  emo 
tion  that  made  Gwendolen  laugh  merrily.  But 
his  vivacity  quite  upset  me.  I  feared,  momentar 
ily,  that  his  enthusiasm  would  find  speech  an  im 
perative  necessity,  and  that  Gwendolen  would  dis 
cover  to  her  consternation  that  what  was  theory 
in  Boston  had  become  practice  in  New  York. 
Thereupon  I  acted  in  a  most  tactless  way.  I  bent 
down  and  removed  Jack  from  Gwendolen's  arms 
to  mine. 

"  Put  me  back,  or  I'll  denounce  you,"  whis 
pered  the  baby,  in  my  ear.  Then  he  began  to 
howl  in  the  most  exaggerated  infantile  manner. 
I  was  annoyed  to  realize  that  my  cheeks  had 
flushed  with  anger  and  that  a  feeling  of  hot  jeal 
ousy  had  swept  over  me.  Gwendolen,  sympa 
thetic  and  impressionable,  had  noticed  the  out 
ward  manifestations  of  my  inward  turmoil  and 
had  hurried  toward  the  door. 

367 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

"  I'll  go  back  to  my  room,  Clare,"  she  said, 
as  she  passed  me.  "  When  you've  put  him  to 
sleep,  come  to  me.  I  want  to  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  him.  Au  rcvoir,  'oo  clear,  sweet  'ittle 
marshmallow !  " 

Jack  and  I  were  alone  in  the  nursery,  and  I 
seated  myself  wearily  in  the  rocking-chair,  hold 
ing  the  uneasy  baby  on  my  lap. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for,  Clarissa?"  he 
growled,  kicking  violently  with  his  expressive 
legs.  "  I  was  in  for  the  time  of  my  life — this 
life,  I  mean — and  you  deliberately  snatched  me 
from  that  lovely  girl's  arms  and  practically  drove 
her  from  the  room.  Do  you  not  realize  that  you 
have  been  very  cruel,  my  dear  ?  Surely  you  can't 
be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  I  lead  a  very  color 
less  life.  Suddenly  the  tiresome  humdrum  of  my 
existence  is  broken  by  a  chance  for  a  perfectly 
harmless  flirtation.  Do  you  rejoice  at  your  little 
baby's  momentary  relief  from  ennui  ?  Not  at  all ; 
you  treat  me  with  the  most  tyrannical  harshness, 
grudging  me  the  slightest  change  in  the  horrible 
368 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

monotony  of  this  infernal  nursery.  What's  that 
girl's  name?  " 

"  Gwendolen  Van  Voorhees,"  I  murmured. 
"  She's  Tom's  cousin." 

"  She  called  herself  Cousin  Gwen  and  ex 
pressed  the  hope  that  I  might  always  love  her," 
mused  Jack,  gazing  with  eyes  too  old  for  his  face 
at  his  dimpled,  restless  fists.  "  I  don't  like  Tom, 
Clarissa,  but  his  cousin  does  him  credit.  I  shall 
always  love  her.  No,  don't  rock,  my  dear.  I 
don't  want  to  go  to  sleep.  If  you  don't  mind, 
Clarissa,  I  should  like  to  lie  very  quiet  and  think 
about  Gwendolen.  Isn't  it  a  beautiful  name? 
I'm  sorry  my  name's  Horatio.  Don't  rock,  not 
even  a  little  bit.  I'm  very  nervous,  am  I  not? 
I'd  give  half  a  dozen  slips  and  my  silver  rattle- 
box  for  a  smoke,  Clarissa.  Do  you  think  that  a 
cigarette  would  hurt  me?  " 

"  You  remember,  Jack,  that  cocktails  didn't 
agree  with  you,"  I  argued,  soothingly.  "  I'm  sure 
that  tobacco  would  be  very  bad  for  you." 

"  Of  course  you  are,"  grumbled  the  baby,  re- 

369 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 


suming  his  impatient  gestures  with  his  legs. 
"  You  think  that  everything  worth  having  is  bad 
for  me,  Clarissa.  I  suppose  that  you  intend  to 
cut  me  off  entirely  from  Cousin  Gwen?  " 

"  Don't  be  unreasonable,  Jack,"  I  implored 
him.  "  Gwen  can  come  here  just  as  often  as  she 
cares  to.  But  you  must  realize,  Jack,  that  I  have 
no  confidence  left  in  your  veracity  or  discretion. 
You  don't  keep  your  promises  to  me  and  you  seem 
to  have  no  realization  of  the  terrible  results  that 
might  come  from  a  discovery  of  your  identity." 

"  Is  this  a  curtain-lecture,  Clarissa  ?  "  growled 
Jack.  "  I  tell  you  flatly,  my  dear,  that  I  can't 
stand  much  more.  I've  about  reached  the  limit 
of  my  self-control.  There's  a  deadly  dullness  to 
this  kind  of  a  life  that  is  slowly  driving  your 
sweet  'ittle  baby-boy,  Cousin  Gwen's  caramel  and 
marshmallow,  to  desperation." 

"  But  what  can  you  do,  Jack  ?  "  I  asked,  fright 
ened  by  the  peculiar  tones  in  his  voice.     "  My 
role  is  as  hard  to  play  as  yours,  is  it  not?    We 
must  both  be  brave  and  circumspect,  my  dear." 
370 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

"  Bah !  "  exclaimed  the  baby,  rudely,  clutching 
at  my  chin  with  his  absurd  little  hands.  "  You 
may  rock  a  little  now,  Clarissa,  very  gently.  Per 
haps  I  could  get  a  nap  if  you'd  stop  scolding  me 
for  a  few  moments." 


371 


CHAPTER  XL 

A   MYSTERIOUS   ELOPEMENT. 

Empty  is  the  cradle  ;  baby's  gone  ! 

— Old  Song. 

FROM  one  standpoint  I  have  come  close  to  the 
end  of  rny  narrative;  from  another,  I  am  still  at 
its  beginning.  But,  with  Tom's  permission,  I 
have  placed  the  foregoing  facts  before  the  public 
in  the  hope  that  the  statement  may  be  read  by 
somebody  in  Europe,  Asia,  Africa  or  America, 
who  is  able  to  assist  us  in  solving  a  hard  prob 
lem.  The  New  York  "newspapers  have  mingled 
fact  and  fiction,  realism  and  romance,  in  the  arti 
cles  bearing  upon  what  they  call  "  The  Great  Min- 
turn  Mystery,"  in  a  manner  most  annoying  to  my 
husband  and  myself.  The  only  really  sympa 
thetic  and  enlightening  account  of  the  awful  afflic- 
ton  that  has  fallen  on  our  erstwhile  happy  home 
372 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

was  printed  by  a  Boston  journal  whose  editor  is 
a  Buddhist.  But  I'm  getting  too  far  ahead  of 
my  story. 

Yet  I  have  nothing  to  relate  that  you,  who 
keep  abreast  of  the  times,  do  not  already  know. 
You  remember  reading  in  your  morning  news 
paper,  a  few  months  ago,  of  the  strange  disap 
pearance  from  Mr.  Thomas  Minturn's  town  house 
of  his  baby,  Horatio  Minturn,  and  a  guest,  the 
well-known  society  favorite,  Miss  Gwendolen 
Van  Voorhees.  You  have  perused,  I  suppose, 
subsequent  journalistic  presentments  of  the  case, 
telling  how  futile  had  been  the  search  for  our 
lost  ones.  Tom,  as  the  public  knows,  has  offered 
enormous  rewards  for  the  slightest  clue  that 
should  serve  to  throw  even  a  glimmer  of  light 
upon  the  most  astounding  disappearance  of  mod 
ern  times.  We  have  employed  the  most  famous 
detectives  in  all  parts  of  the  world  in  our  vain 
efforts  to  find  some  trace  of  the  fugitives — if  such 
Jack  and  Gwendolen  may  be  called.  But,  up  to 
the  present  moment,  we  have  learned  nothing 
373 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

that  can  help  us  in  any  way  in  our  weary  quest. 
In  desperation,  and  as  a  last  resort,  I  have  writ 
ten  and  published  this  account  of  the  events  that 
led  up  to  our  great  loss.  When  the  editor  of  a 
magazine  insisted  that  I  should  choose  a  title 
for  my  amazing  presentment  of  our  weird  exper 
ience,  a  lump  came  into  my  throat  and  tears  be- 
dimmed  my  eyes.  Had  not  Jack  himself,  with  a 
most  uncanny  foresight,  chosen  the  title  of  my 
unwilling  deposition  ?  "  Clarissa's  Troublesome 
Baby !  "  Alas,  how  little  did  I  realize  at  the 
time  of  his  suggestion  how  appropriate  would 
be  this  caption  to  my  melancholy  tale ! 

"  Where's  Gwendolen  ?  "  Tom  had  asked  of  me 
at  breakfast  upon  the  morning  of  the  fateful  day 
that  was  to  shatter  for  all  time  my  second  hus 
band's  materialistic  tendency  of  thought.  "  In 
the  nursery,  as  usual,  I  presume?  " 

"  She'd  rather  play  with  the  baby  than  eat  or 
sleep,  Tom,"  I  answered  laughingly.     "  In  the 
present  dearth  of  nursemaids,   Gwendolen's  en 
thusiasm  for  Horatio  is  most  opportune." 
374 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

Tom  laughed  as  he  lighted  his  after-breakfast 
cigar. 

"  Let's  go  to  the  nursery,  Clarissa,  and  bid 
them  good  morning.  I  haven't  seen  Horatio  for 
forty-eight  hours.  I'm  glad  that  Gwen  likes  him 
so  well,  but  I  really  feel  that  I  am  entitled  to 
a  glimpse  of  the  youngster  now  and  again." 

Thus  did  Tom  and  I  gaily  mount  the  stairway 
to  our  doom.  We  rushed,  so  to  speak,  with 
laughing  faces,  to  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice, 
and  toppled  over,  with  a  quip  half  spoken  upon 
our  white  lips. 

As  we  entered  the  nursery,  crying  playfully  to 
Gwendolen  to  abdicate  the  throne  she  had 
usurped,  we  were  struck  silent  and  motionless  by 
the  sudden  discovery  that  the  room  was  empty. 
Tom  was,  of  course,  less  shocked  than  I  by  Jack's 
deserted  nest.  There  came  to  me,  as  I  stood  there, 
cold  and  trembling,  on  the  threshold  of  the  nurs 
ery,  the  conviction  that  I  was  confronting  the 
scene  of  another  miracle,  an  environment  within 
which  I  should  never  again  be  annoyed  by  psychi 
cal  mysteries. 

375 


Perkins,  the  Fakeer. 

I  was  recalled  to  myself  by  Tom's  voice  say 
ing: 

"  What  do  you  suppose  has  become  of  them, 
my  dear?  Gwendolen!  Horatio!  Where  are 
you?" 

Ah,  but  the  pathos  of  it  all !  Gwendolen !  Ho 
ratio!  Where  are  you?  Were  you  wilfully, 
heartlessly  selfish,  indifferent,  in  your  strange 
ecstasy,  to  the  sorrow  that  you  brought  to  others, 
or  were  you  powerless  in  the  grasp  of  fate,  forced 
through  psychical  affinity  to  disappear  thus  weird 
ly  from  the  sight  of  men  ? 

You  must  see,  dear  reader,  that  what  I  have 
written  cannot  come  to  an  end  that  will  satisfy 
either  your  mind  or  your  heart.  I  began  with  an 
exclamation  point;  I  must  conclude  with  an  in 
terrogation  mark.  And  in  that  obligation  I  find 
that  my  tale  resembles  every  human  life.  We 
come  to  earth  with  a  cry,  and  we  leave  it  with 
a  question.  So  far  as  man  is  concerned,  evolution 
has  been  merely  a  zigzag  progress  up  from  proto 
plasm  to  a  problem. 

376 


Clarissa's  Troublesome  Baby. 

And  how  has  Tom  withstood  the  unmaterialis- 
tic  revelation  that  I  have  been  forced  to  make  to 
him  and  to  the  public?  Has  he  been  shaken  in 
his  faith  in  the  teachings  of  Buchner,  Haeckel  and 
Herr  Platner?  Of  course,  being  a  man,  he  is 
slow  to  admit  that  his  nursery  has  vouchsafed  to 
him  more  enlightenment  than  his  library,  but  he 
has  grown  very  gentle  and  sympathetic  when  I 
talk  to  him  about  the  possibility  that  the  dreams 
of  the  brooding  East  may  be  nearer  the  ultimate 
truth  than  the  syllogisms  of  the  practical  West. 
You  see,  it  was  a  condition,  not  a  theory,  which 
confronted  Tom  that  morning  in  our  empty  nurs 
ery. 

Nevertheless,  he  tells  me  that  he  has  just  hired 
a  young  detective,  who  is  said  to  have  a  genius 
for  solving  mysteries  that  his  older  colleagues  have 
abandoned  as  beyond  their  skill.  Let  me  assure 
you,  dear  reader,  that  if  Tom's  latest  employee 
gets  on  the  track  of  Gwendolen  Van  Voorhees 
and  little  Horatio  Minturn,  I  shall  see  to  it  that 
the  public  be  instantly  informed  of  the  fact. 
377 


A  PURITAN  WITCH 

<A  Romantic  Love  Story 


Author  of  '•'•The  Woman  of  Orchids?  etc. 

THRILLING        TENDER        ABSORBING 

This  is  2.  romance  that  abounds  in  the  best 
qualities  of  the  best  fiction  :  action  that  is  essen 
tial  and  vigorous,  sentiment  that  is  genuine  and 
pure,  a  plot  that  is  new  and  stirring,  a  setting 
that  is  fitting  and  distinctive.  The  artistic  con 
ception  of  the  story  happily  unites  realism  and 
romance.  The  reader's  interest  is  aroused  in  the 
first  chapter  ;  it  is  increased  steadily  to  the  climax 
of  a  happy  ending. 

THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  ARE  FROM 
DRAWINGS   IN   PHOTOGRAVURE 

IE*.    IR.    .A.TJIDIIBEIR'I? 


Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.25 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

452  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City 


The  Vulgarians 

BY  EDGAR  FAWCETT 

Author  of  "The  Evil  that  Men  Do,"  etc. 

• 

An  account   of  a  trio  from  the  West,  who  become   immensely 

wealthy.    Their  entry  into  New  York  is  full  of  both 

humor  and  sentiment. 


In  this  story  the  author  has  achieved  the  best 
expression  of  his  genius.  Parvenus  of  immense 
wealth  are  here  made  real  before  the  reader,  and 
not  only  real,  but  lovable  as  well.  The  story  is 
at  once  ingenious  and  simple,  entertaining  and 
profound.  It  is  a  most  valuable  picture  of  Amer 
ican  life,  drawn  from  facts,  and  must  stand  as  an 
important  contribution  to  literature. 

COMMENTS  OF  THE  PRESS 

Boston  Transcript.— •"  An  excellent  example  of  the  author's 
skill." 

Mail  and  Express. — "Typical  of  the  author's  talent  in  all  its 
phases." 

Willington  News.— "  An  excellent  story  of  American  life." 

Town  Topics. — "Mr.  Fawcett  has  evidently  lost  none  of  his  cun 
ning  as  a  novelist ;  this  story  is  full  of  power  and  vigorous  effects." 


Illustrated   by  Archie  Qunn 
Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $1.OO 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO, 

452  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City 


The  Fighting  Chance 

THE   ROMANCE  OF  AN  INGENUE 
By  Gertrude  Lynch 

The  story  is  a  modern  romance  dealing  with 
prominent  public  characters  in  Washington 
political  life,  depicting  a  vivid  picture  of  a  phase 
in  the  life  of  an  honest  statesman.  The  theme 
is  treated  with  great  skill  by  an  author  whose 
personal  experience  enables  her  to  write  lumin 
ously  of  department  life.  The  love  interest  in 
the  story  is  fascinating,  while  the  plot  is  abso 
lutely  distinctive — as  original  as  it  is  satisfying. 

COMMENTS  OF  THE  PRESS 

Utica  Press. — "  A  cleverly  written  story  and  has  some  fine  char 
acters." 

N.  Y. Journal.—  "The  story  is  as  interesting  as  it  is  valuable." 

Salt  Lake  Tribune.— •"  A  fine  story." 

Boston  Transcript.— "There  is  enough  excitement  and  love 
interest  in  '  The  Fighting  Chance '  to  entice  anyone  who  is  alert  for 
a  good  story." 

Town  Topics.—"  One  of  those  delightful  comedies  in  which  the 
fighting  consists  of  wit  combats,  and  the  story  is  told  with  a  vivid 
ness  that  makes  it  possible  to  visualize  all  the  scenes  and  characters 
amid  natural  surroundings.  The  action  is  cleverly  dramatic  and  the 
denouement  is  skilfully  held  in  suspense." 


Illustrated    by   Bayard   Jones 
Crown   8vo,  Cloth,  $1.25 


THE  SMART  SET  PUBLISHING  CO. 

452  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City 


- 

DATE  DUE 


HIGHSMITH   45-  102 


PRINTED  IN   U.S.A. 


PS31 19    V45P47 

Van   Zile,   .Edward   Sims,    1863- 

Perkins,    the    fakeer,    a 
travesty  on    reincarnation 


001260215  7 


